PS 
1006 
A85 


California 

egional 

acility 


,  ,  . 

of  California 

IRVINE 


TOOT  YER  HORN 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS 


BY 


(ULLIE  AKERSTROM) 


PUBLISHED    BY    THE   AUTHORESS. 
1888. 


TO    THE    PUBLIC, 

WHOSE     KIND     ENCOURAGEMENT     URGES     ME     ON     TO 

HIGHER     AIMS.     THIS     LITTLE     VOLUME     IS 

RESPECTFULLY     INSCRIBED. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1888,  by  ULLIE  AKERSTBOM, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


INDEX. 


PAGE. 

Toot  yer  Horn  if  You  don't  Sell  a  Clam 5 

The  Miner's  Protege 6 

Right  Will  E'er  Prevail 8 

Thoughts  In  a  Churchyard   9 

Never  Dilly-dally 1 1 

Phantoms 1 1 

To-morrow 12 

Learn  to  Walk  Alone 14 

What  Do  We  Live  For  ? 15 

Push  Ahead  and  Don't  Despair   16 

Life's  Workers 17 

Your  Fortune 18 

My  Wish 19 

Rely  Upon  Yourself 20 

Ode  to  Night 21 

The  Storm 22 

Dreams 23 

Unrest '. . . .  \  25 

Memories 25 

The  Sea 26 

The  Coat  Makes  the  Man  of  To-day 27 

The  Four  Suns 28 

Philosophy 30 

Passing  Thoughts 31 

The  Old  Dress 32 

Oblivion 32 

The  Weed 33 

Somebody's  Waiting  for  Me   35 

The  Old  Wife's  Song 36 

Going  Home 37 

Illinois   38 

Love  Commands  All 39 

Nobody  Cares  but  Mother 41 

Betrayed 42 

To  My  Old  Friends 43 

If 44 

Lines  (to  a  friend) 45 

Lines  (on  hearing  a  gentleman  say  the  spirit  of  his  dead  wife  seemed 

always  near  him) 4^ 


4  INDEX. 

PAGE. 

39.  God's  Christmas  Gift 47 

40.  To  a  Child 48 

41 .  Bridal  and  Funeral  Flowers 49 

42.  Under  the  Willow 50 

43.  Lines  (on  the  death  of  a  child] 51 

44.  My  Bird  Song 53 

45.  Footsteps  on  The  Stair , 54 

46.  Lines  (to  an  old  friend] 55 

47.  Only  a  Tress  of  Hair 56 

48.  Old  Love  Songs 57 

49.  Impossibilities 5^ 

50.  In  Memorial 59 

51.  I  Want  My  Balloon 60 

52.  My  Choice 62 

53.  Wanted  :  A  Wife 63 

54.  Old  Yaller 64 

55.  I'll  Bet  Yer  a  Dollar 67 

56.  Deacon  Gray 68 

57.  Big  Injun 69 

58.  A  Woman's  Explanation 70 

59.  The  Old  Maid   71 

60.  A  Warning  to  Poets 72 

6 1 .  The  Omen 74 

62.  Perhaps 76 

63.  Parted 77 

64.  Trials 78 

65 .  Lines 79 

66.  Remember  Me 80 

67.  Watching  (a  sea  story] 81 

68.  Discontent 82 

69.  A  Heart  Song 83 

70.  Drifting  Apart 84 

71.  Thy  Will  be  Done 85 

72.  Have  Trust  in  God 86 

73.  Resignation 87 

74.  Submission 88 

75.  My  Prayer 88 

76.  Be  Thou  My  Guide. 89 

77.  Self  Reliance  (prose) 90 

78.  The  Actor 91 

79.  Don't  Miss  Your  Cue 92 

80.  Sunshine  (prose) 94 


"TOOT  YER  HORN  IF  YOU  DON'T  SELL  A  CLAM." 


\  V/HILE  on  a  trip  to  Baltimore, 
*     That  city  grand  on  Chesapeake's  shore, 

I  met  a  man  upon  the  pier, 

('Mong  other  venders  standing  near)  ; 

With  clams  his  cart  was  loaded  down, 

(A  peddler  he  about  the  town)  ; 

'•'  Good  man,''  said  I,  "how  many  hours 

Will  it  take  to  sell  that  load  of  yours  ?  " 

He  turned  and  said,  "Well,  I  don't  know, 

Whether  I'll  sell  'em  fast  or  slow  ; 

Life  is  a  sort  of  game  of '  grab,' 

An'  nothin'  venture,  nothin'  have  ; 

I'll  do  my  best  as  sure  as  you're  born  ; 

I'll  go  around  an'  toot  my  horn 

If  I  don't  sell  a  clam  ! " 

He  drove  away  ;  his  horn's  clear  (?)  swell 

Told  far  and  near  he'd  clams  to  sell  ; 

"  Toot  !  toot !  clams  !  c-1-a-m-s  !  "  I  heard  him  call, 

"  Here's  nice  fresh  clams  for  great  and  small  !  " 

"  Toot  !  clams  !  "  he  called  from  street  to  street, 

To  all  whom  he  would  chance  to  meet  ; 

I  watched  him  drive  out  of  my  sight, 

Yet  still  I  heard  his  voice  of  might 

Yell  "  clams  !  clams  !  clams  !  "  I  smiled  to  see 

The  honest  fellow's  earnest  zeal  : 


I  sauntered  on  with  careless  tread, 
And  still  those  words  rang  in  my  head  : 
"  I'll  do  my  best  as  sure  as  you're  born ; 
I'm  goin'  'round  to  toot  my  horn 
If  I  don't  sell  a  clam  !  " 

I  learned  a  lesson  from  that  man, — 

I  honored  his  hard-working  plan, — 

I  pray  you  take  it  home  likewise, 

Despondent  souls  with  heavy  eyes  ; 

"  Brace  up,"  that's  slang,  I.  know,  but  true, 

And  good  advice  for  me  and  you  ; 

Don't  sit  and  loaf  on  life's  curbstone, 

While  others  pass  you're  left  alone  ; 

"Git  up  and  git,"  don't  waste  your  time, — 

Life's  choicest  prizes  may  be  thine  ; 

Good  luck  awaits  both  rich  and  poor ; 

Go  'round  and  hunt — you'll  fipd  it  sure ; 

Don't  sit  complaining  so  forlorn, — 

Go  rush  around  and  "  toot  your  horn 

If  you  don't  sell  a  clam." 


THE  MINER'S  PROTEGE. 


W 


AL.  you  see  its  a  queer  story,  missy, 
The  little  gal's  none  o'  our  kin  ; 
But  you  bet  when  the  old  men  go  under 

She's  the  one  who  will  handle  our  "  tin.' 
My  pard  an'  me's  rough  minin'  fellers, 

We've  got  nary  children  nor  wife  ; 
But  we  love  little  yaller-haired  Nellie, 
An'  we'll  rear  her  up  right, — bet  yer  life. 


How  old  ?     Wai  she's  nigh  eight  I  reckon, 

Five  years  since  we  brought  her  out  here  ; 
An'  she  was  the  cunninest  baby 

We'd  looked  at  for  many  a  year. 
Yer  see  'twas  the  time  the  Apaches 

Broke  out.      (Blast  the  red  imps  o'  sin  !) 
The  emigrant  train  crossed  their  trail,  Miss  ; 

An'  the  Injuns  they  scooped  'em  all  in. 

Yes,  thar  lay  men,  childen  an'  wimmen  ; 

The  red  imps  had  laised  all  their  ha'r  ; 
We  couldn't  do  nothin'  to  help  'em, 

So  my  pard  an'  me  buried  them  thar. 
There  was  one  likely  lookin'  young  cretur' 

Lyin'  out  from  the  rest  of  the  heap. 
She  was  dead  like  the  rest — an'  poor  Nellie 

Was  close  by  her  side  fast  asleep. 

Wai,  'twas  nigh  ninety  miles  to  the  settlement ; 

Bill  an'  me  turned  the  thing  in  our  mind, 
An'  at  last  we  concluded  to  keep  her 

An'  bring  her  up  lovin'  an'  kind. 
We  buried  her  poor  dad  an'  mammy, 

Likewise  all  their  unlucky  mates, 
An'  we  named  her  Nell,  arter  a  sweetheart 

My  pard  had  once,  back  in  the  States. 

But  the  trouble  we  had  with  that  young  un 

Was  somethin'  quite  funny  to  see  ; 
Bill  give  her  up  for  a  mystery, 

Likewise  she  was  too  much  for  me. 
Her  durned  duds,  they  wouldn't  go  on  right, 

An'  we  cussed  every  button  an'  string  ; 
But  arter  a  spell  we  did  better, 

When  we  once  got  the  hang  o'  the  thing 


8 


An'  she's  growin'  up  pert-like  an'  blooinin'  ; 

We  take  her  to  work  every  day, 
And  while  Bill  an'  me's  busy  a  minin' 

She'll  sit  on  the  rock  pile  an'  play. 
An'  she's  made  better  men  of  us  both,  Miss, 

We  don't  cuss  now,  nor  go  on  no  spree  ; 
'Cause  we're  workin'  and  savin'  for  Nellie, 

The  pride  of  my  old  pard  an'  me. 


RIGHT  WILL  E'ER  PREVAIL 


THOUGH  this  world  of  ours  seems  upside  down, 
-r      And  under  falsehood's  sway, 
I  tell  you,  friends,  there's  coming  soon 

A  brighter,  happier  day. 
There'll  be  a  day  when  truth  and  love 

Will  rule  o'er  hill  and  dale  ; 
For  a  God  of  justice  reigns  above, 
And  Right  will  e'er  prevail. 

Brothers  who  trod  the  downward  road 

Led  on  by  fiendish  Rum, 
But  have  broken  loose  from  his  fatal  grasp, 

And  the  upward  path  begun — 
Though  shunned  and  doubted  now  by  all, 

Do  not  o'er  the  past  bewail  ; 
You  will  yet  regain  your  lost  estate, 

For  Right  will  e'er  prevail 

Sisters,  who  strayed  from  virtue's  pale, 

But  have  now  turned  back  again, 
Press  on,  for  repentence,  time  and  faith 

Will  blot  out  the  past's  dark  stain. 


Take  heart  !     Work  on  in  your  self  reform, 

Your  efforts  will  sure  avail  ; 
For  a  God  of  Love  doth  watch  above, 

And  Right  will  e'er  prevail. 

Yea,  earnest  labor  with  heart  and  brain, 

And  the  help  of  God  will  win  ; 
And  honesty,  temperance,  virtue,  still 

Will  rise  above  crime  and  sin. 
Then  join  hands  in  all  the  lands, 

And  encourage  the  weak  and  frail ; 
Let  them  turn  not  back  to  sin's  dark  track, 

And  may  Truth  and  Right  prevail. 


THOUGHTS  IN  A  CHURCHYARD. 


Y 


ON  mound  by  brightest  flowers  decked, 
Tells  of  a  love  not  yet  forgot ; 

Of  thoughts  that  ever  backward  turn 
From  busy  life  to  this  lone  spot. 

Like  sea  of  living  green  outspread, 

By  waving  grass  o'ergrown,  this  mound 

Reminds  us  of  the  bright,  fresh  fields, 
Where  nature's  free,  rich  gifts  abound. 

Yon  sculptured  marble,  high  and  cold, 
A  token  seems  of  power  and  worth  ; 

Not  so — a  poor,  weak  hope  it  shows, 
To  be  remembered  on  the  earth. 

Like  blot  upon  a  picture  bright, 
This  dark  and  bare  unsodden  spot 

So  drear,  and  from  the  rest  apart, 
Seems  by  the  whole  wide  world  forgot. 


10 


Howe'er  disguised,  beneath  each  mound, 
A  hidden  tenant  ghastly  lies, 

A  stark  and  mouldering,  shrouded  form 
Is  buried  deep  from  human  eyes. 


And  so  in  life  is  man  to  man  ; 

We  hear  the  jest,  we  see  the  smile, 
Unheeding  that  the  fair  outside 

Conceals  a  sorrow  all  the  while. 

Some  men  are  like  the  mound  with  flowers, 
Their  lives  seem  full  of  bliss  and  light ; 

Yet,  'neath  the  brilliant,  gay  outside, 
Is  hid  some  thought  their  joy  to  blight. 

And  others,  like  the  marble  high, 

Conceal  their  minds  'neath  pride  and  gold. 
But,  ah  !     The  rich  man's  haughty  soul, 

At  times  is  filled  with  woe  untold. 

And  like  the  drear,  unsodden  spot, 
In  some  poor,  joyless  human  heart, 

Which,  filled  with  sad  and  gloomy  thoughts, 
Seems  fate  ordained  to  live  apart. 

Yes,  'neath  the  careless  look,  each  heart 
Conceals  some  scar,  some  stab,  some  burn, 

Or  ruin  of  some  cherished  hope, 
To  which  the  thoughts  forever  turn. 

And  like  the  graves,  the  covering  bright 
Seems  free  from  cloud  as  summer's  sky  ; 

Yet,  like  the  graves,  deep  in  each  heart, 
The  ashes  of  some  image  lie. 


1 1 


NEVER  DILLY-DALLY. 


W 


HAT  e'er  you  have  to  carry,  friend, 

Don't  loiter  by  the  road, 
Nor  sit  and  wait  for  some  one  else 

To  lighten  up  your  load. 
If  you  intend  to  climb  life's  hill, 

Don't  idle  in  the  valley  ; 
But  warning  take  in  time,  my  friend, 
And  do  not  dilly-dally. 

In  short,  whate'er  you  have  to  do, 

Do  quickly  and  at  once  ; 
The  man  who  stands  and  "  hems  and  haws," 

Is  nothing  but  a  dunce. 
Life's  hill  is  steep — If  you  would  climb 

Don't  loiter  in  the  valley  ; 
The  winner  in  life's  race  is  he 

Who  does  not  dilly-dally. 


Y 


PHANTOMS. 

E  phantoms  of  the  buried  past, 

That  rise  athwart  my  path 
Why  come  ye  here  your  saddening  gloom 

Across  my  soul  to  cast  ? 
Back  to  your  haunts  !   I'm  living  now 

In  light  of  the  glad  To-day  ; 
I  weep  no  more  o'er  vanished  joys  ; 

Back  !  back  !  Ye  must  not  stay ! 

Why  linger  ye  with  shadowy  hands, 
That  point  my  merrory  back 

To  crumbled  idols,  lying  low, 
O'er  the  weary,  trodden  track  ; 


I  close  my  eyes  on  your  gloomy  forms, 
And  press  on  the  upward  way  ; 

I'll  weep  no  more  over  vanished  joys  ; 
Back  !  back  !  Why  do  ye  stay  ? 

And  yet,  alas,  with  your  presence  comes 

A  yearning,  I  know  not  why, 
To  list  to  your  plaintive,  mournful  tones, 

Though  I  pass  so  quickly  by  ; 
I  fain  would  live  in  the  peaceful  calm, 

And  light  of  the  glad  To-day  ; 
I  will  not  weep  over  vanished  joys  ; 

Back  !  back  !  Ye  shall  not  stay  ! 

Why  should  I  grieve  and  mourn  and  sigh 

Over  things  that  once  have  been  ? 
I  cannot  better  my  kindest  act, 

Nor  lessen  my  greatest  sin  ; 
So  back  to  your  haunts  ye  goblin  things, 

And  there  in  oblivion  stay  ; 
I  weep  no  more  over  vanished  joys  ; 

I  live  in  the  glad  To-day  ! 


TO-MORROW. 


'HE  trees,  green-leaved,  through  which  the  breeze 

To-day  is  softly  blowing, 
The  flowers  that  proudly  rear  their  heads 

Beside  the  brooklet  growing  ; 
Inhale  their  perfume, — note  their  grace, 

Nor  thought  of  sadness  borrow  ; 
Those  flowers,  so  fragrant,  fresh  and  pure, 

May  droop  and  die  To-morrow. 


Sweet  child,  beside  thy  mother's  knee, 

So  innocent  and  smiling, 
With  childish  prattle, — baby  wiles, 

Her  every  care  beguiling  ; 
O  clasp  him,  mother,  while  you  may  ! 

Shield  his  young  life  from  sorrow ; 
Thy  boy,  so  bright  and  winsome  now, 

Chill  Death  may  claim  To-morrow. 

Young  wife,  close  by  thy  husband's  side, 

So  beautiful  and  charming, 
Thy  pure,  confiding,  wifely  heart 

No  fear  of  ill  alarming, 
Smile  while  you  may  — love  while  you  can, 

(God  turn  each  poisoned  arrow)  ; 
The  one  you  trust  so  fondly  now, 

Cold  "  change  "  may  touch  To-morrow. 

Yea,  flowers  and  beauty,  light  and  joy, 

Youth,  talent,  love  and  pleasure, 
The  careless  heart,  the  lovelit  eye, 

Each  fondly  cherished  treasure, 
Enjoy  to-day, — another  sun 

May  bow  thy  soul  in  sorrow, 
And  what  you  prize  so  dearly  now, 

May  all  be  gone  To-morrow. 


And  yet  new  forms  spring  up  around, 

With  life  the  dead  replacing  ; 
The  Present  with  its  joys  and  cares, 

All  else  almost  erasing  ; 
Keep  fast  thy  hold  on  Faith  and  Hope, 

Nor  yield  to  needless  sorrow  ; 
The  sky  so  dark  with  clouds  to-day, 

May  sunlit  be  To-morro\v. 


14 

LEARN  TO  WALK  ALONE. 


THIS  world's  a  puzzle  hard  to  solve, 
•T      A  riddle  hard  to  read  ; 
And  those  who  find  life's  path  all  bright 

Are  precious  few  indeed  ; 
Yet  don't  despair  though  Fortune  frown, 

Nor  murmur  at  your  fate  ; 
Your  aim  in  life  by  earnest  toil, 

You'll  sure  win  soon  or  late  ; 
But  walk  upon  your  <nvn  feet,  friend, 

Don't  trust  to  other's  strength 
To  carry  or  to  pull  you  up 

Life's  hill  of  weary  length  ; 
If  e'er  you  hope  to  ' '  make  your  mark, " 

Or  let  your  worth  be  known, 
Take  all  the  props  from  under  you 

And  learn  to  walk  alone. 

Men,  who  depend  on  borrowed  gold 

To  brighten  up  your  name, 
And  plead  you  must  make  such  display, 

Your  future  wealth  to  gain  ; 
Beware  !  ' '  pay  as  you  go  "  is  best  ; 

Debt  is  an  ugly  foe, 
You  cannot  tell  what  hour  the  fiend 

Will  strike  a  fatal  blow  ! 
Sons  !  stand  without  your  father's  aid, 

Upon  yourselves  rely, 
Rich  fruitage  in  the  future  lies, 

You'll  win  it  if  you  try  ; 
Know  that  the  "  solid  man  "  is  he 

(In  high  or  humble  home) 
Who  has  no  props  to  lean  upon, 

But  walks  along  alone. 


WHAT  DO  WE  LIVE  FOR  ? 


\  V /HAT  do  we  live  for  ?     Is  it  to  toil 
*  *      And  hoard  up  wealth  we  can  never  use  ? 
To  labor  on  ever,  day  by  day, 

Till  our  eye  and  cheek  their  lustre  lose  ? 
To  turn  our  backs  on  life's  joys  and  light, 

And  concentrate  all  our  thoughts  to  gain, 
'Till  our  hair  is  gray  and  our  step  grows  slow, 
And  our  body  is  racked  with  declining  pain  ? 

What  do  we  live  for  ?     Is  it  that  we 

May  rule  or  conquer  our  fellow-men  ? 
Or  is  it  that  we  may  pass  our  time 

In  study  of  art  or  use  of  pen  ? 
And  fill  the  dreamless  hours  of  night 

With  longings  for  what  we  cannot  attain, 
Or  to  sacrifice  all  of  our  youth's  bright  light 

For  the  poor  and  empty  bauble,  fame  ? 

What  do  we  live  for  ?     Is  it  to  be 

Despondent  and  saddened  fore'er  and  e'er, 
To  turn  from  the  pleasant  walks  of  life 

And  choose  for  our  part  the  toil  and  care  ? 
Is  it  for  this,  alas,  that  man 

Lives  on,  and  on,  through  Time's  long  hours  ? 
Is  it  for  this  that  He  has  formed 

Us  after  His  image  by  his  power? 

Not  so  !     O  tired  and  brain-worn  hordes 

In  the  city's  heated  and  pent  up  walls  ; 
O  drop  for  a  while  your  books  and  pens, 

Come  listen  how  sweetly  the  wild  bird  calls  ! 
Come  gaze  upon  Nature's  features  fair, 

Let  her  fan  your  brow  with  her  perfumed  breath  ; 
Each  day  awhile  with  her  scenes  commune, 

And  life  of  its  care  will  be  half  bereft. 


i6 


A  little  of  wealth  will  do  us  all, 

If  we  pay  our  way  from  day  to  day  ; 
And  poverty  is  not  bitter,  friend, 

If  we  have  our  health  and  a  heart  that's  gay  ; 
Enjoy  on  this  earth  its  beauties  rare, 

Death  rings  full  soon  for  us  all  his  knell  ; 
And  he  who  has  gleaned  the  most  of  joy, 

Can  truly  say  "  He  has  lived  life  well !  " 


PUSH  AHEAD  AND  DON'T  DESPAIR. 


!jOES  your  path  look  dark  and  gloomy  ? 

Do  your  steps  lag  on  the  way  ? 
Are  you  weary,  sad,  disheartened 

At  your  trials  every  day  ? 
Lift  your  head  and  pass  on  boldly, 

Fearless,  face  life's  storms  and  care  ; 
Every  soul  must  bear  its  troubles  : 

Push  ahead  and  don't  despair. 

Do  you  toil  to  win  an  object 

Far  away  from  present  view  ? 
Does  each  day  seem  ever  bringing 

Added  care  and  toil  to  you  ? 
If  you  do  your  very  best,  friend, 

Through  all  weather,  foul  or  fair, 
Sure  success  will  crown  your  efforts : 

Push  ahead  and  don't  despair. 

What's  the  use  to  sit  complaining 
O'er  the  ills  we  cannot  mend  ? 

Don't  give  way  to  vain  repining, 
Useless  folly  'tis,  my  friend  ; 


Don't  stand  moping  in  the  shadow  ; 

Step  out  where  the  sun  shines  fair, 
Though  the  stumbling-blocks  are  many, 

Push  ahead  and  don't  despair. 


LIFE'S  WORKERS. 


F  you've  incited  fellow-men 

To  better  acts  and  nobler  deeds, — 
If  you  have  lent  a  friendly  hand 

To  help  a  poor  man's  many  needs, — 
If  you  have  Charity's  silence  kept, 

Nor  added  blot  to  tarnished  name, 
But  helped  the  weak  one  on  his  feet, — 

Be  sure  you  have  not  lived  in  vain. 

If  you  have  shown  youthful  minds 

The  difference  'twixt  right  and  wrong, 
Or  helped  to  carry  some  one's  load 

Of  care,  Life's  weary  road  along  ; 
If  through  your  means  some  fallen  one 

Shall  turn  back  from  her  life  of  shame, 
And,  with  God's  help,  live  honestly, — 

Be  sure  you  have  not  lived  in  vain. 

If  you  shall  point  the  way  to  light 

To  some  dark,  sad,  discouraged  heart, 
If  e'er  you  strive  to  help  the  Right, 

As  in  Life's  scenes  you  take  your  part — 
Believe  our  God,  whose  searching  eye 

Knows  all  our  motives,  acts  and  pain, 
Will  not  condemn  His  handiwork, 

Nor  deem  that  you  have  lived  in  vain. 


i8 


YOUR  FORTUNE, 

>  HALL  I  tell  your  fortune  ?     Well,  get  the  cards  ; 
T     A  gypsy  must  have  her  cards,  you  know  ; 
Now,  sit  down  there  with  attentive  mien, 

Sit  right  down  opposite  me — there — so  ; 
I'll  shuffle  and  cut  and  con  the  pack, 
And  all  I  tell  will  be  strictly  true  ; 
As  I  view  the  cards  I  will  tell,  my  friend. 
What  the  dim,  far  future  will  bring  to  you. 

Your  life  will  be  checkered  here  and  there 

With  sunshine  and  shadow — a  little  rain  ; 
If  you  use  your  talents  and  aim  up  high, 

You'll  make  an  honored  and  noble  name  ; 
If  you  work  and  save  as  you  go  along, 

And  wrong  no  man  (by  the  cards  I'm  told), 
You'll  live  a  contented  and  peaceful  life, 

And  have  wealth  to  spare  when  you  grow  old. 

You  will  love  (I  am  safe  in  saying  that, 

For  everyone  loves  sometime  in  life)  ; 
If  you  woo  her  rightly  you'll  gain  her  heart, 

And  make  her  your  well  beloved  wife  ; 
If  you  treat  her  e'er  as  a  partner  dear, 

And  are  kind  and  patient  (the  cards  now  say), 
She'll  be  fond  and  tender  and  true  to  you, 

And  be  a  good,  faithful  wife  alway. 

You  can  gain  a  stand  in  the  busy  world 
By  earnest,  faithful  and  ceaseless  toil  ; 

You  can  ride  on  the  ciest  of  Life's  wild  waves, 
Or  sink  unseen  in  the  turbid  moil, 


The  power's  within  you  to  drown  or  swim, 

To  win  wealth,  laurels,  friends,  or  lose  them  ; 

The  talents  you  have. — how  much  you  gain, 
Depends  entire  on — how  you  use  them, 

*  *  *  *  * 

Away  with  this  folly,  your  "  Fortune  "  's  done  ; 

I've  told  you  all  in  the  future  lies, 
As  far  as  I  can — for  the  coming  years 

Are  solemnly  sealed  from  mortal  eyes  ; 
Your  future  fortune  your  own  hands  hold, 

You  can  mould  it  just  as  you  will,  I  say; 
Be  sure,  To-morrow'll  take  care  of  itself 

If  you  do  the  best  you  can  To-day. 


MY  WISH. 

L    ET  me  be  happy  while  I  may, 
*— ^     To  me  Life's  sky  looks  clear  to-day  ; 
Don't  tell  me  if  you  know  the  sun 
Will  shroud  in  clouds,  e'er  day  is  done  ; 
Don't  tell  me,  if  the  friends  I  love 
You  know,  in  time,  most  false  will  prove 
But  let  me  dream  and  smile  to-day  ; 
Let  me  be  happy  while  I  may. 

Perhaps  the  hands  I  love  to  clasp 
Will  smite  me  cruelly  at  last  ; 
Perhaps  the  lips  I  love  to  kiss 
With  scorn  will  end  my  fancied  bliss ; 
Perhaps  the  smiles  that  beam  on  me 
Will  prove  to  be  hypocrisy  ; 
Yet  do  not  tell  me  if  you  know  ; 
Don't  warn  me  of  the  coming  blow. 


20 


But  let  me  dream  !     Life's  joys  are  few, 
So  let  me  fancy  all  are  true  ; 
Time  soon  for  me  to  weep  may  come, 
And  bitter  wrongs  to  me  be  done  ; 
Yet  do  not  cloud  my  dreams  to-day, 
These  dreams  that  are  so  glad  and  gay, 
But  let  me  think  they'll  ever  stay  ; 
Let  me  be  happy,  while  I  may. 


RELY  UPON  YOURSELF. 


iS  YOU  go  forth  in  busy  life 
And  join  in  the  ceaseless  strife, 

To  gain  a  little  wealth, 
This  caution  I  would  give  to  you  : 
True-hearted  friends  are  very  few, 

Trust  no  one  but  yourself. 

You'll  find  that  as  a  general  rule, 
The  world  will  make  of  you  a  tool 

For  gain  of  paltry  pelf  ; 
So  when  you  form  a  goodly  plan, 
Don't  tell  your  thought  to  any  man, 

But  ' '  run  the  thing  "  yourself. 

These  so-called  friends  will  often  be 
Far  from  you,  if  adversity 

E'er  robs  you  of  your  wealth  ; 
The  truest  friends  in  all  the  lands, 
You'll  find  are  your  hard-working  hands. 

Rely  upon  yourself. 


So  don't  forget  the  motto,  friend, 
If  you  into  your  life  would  send 

True  cheerfulness  and  health  ; 
Remember,  he's  the  happiest  man 
Who  'mid  all  circumstances,  can 

Rely  upon  himself. 


ODE  TO  NIGHT. 

NIGHT  !     O  quiet  night  ! 

Bathed  in  the  clear  starlight  ; 
Bringing  to  weary  souls 
Sweet  rest  and  calm  repose  ; 
Casting  o'er  grass  and  flowers 

Bright,  sparkling,  dewy  showers 
From  heaven's  pure  cell, 

Thine  is  the  stilly  hour 

When  those  in  trouble  sore, 
And  those  who  mourn  their  dead, 
With  sad,  low  bending  head, 
Find  for  their  bitter  grief, 

Transient,  but  sweet  relief, 
In  sleep's  calm  spell. 

On  thy  soft  winds,  ascend 

Prayers  fr6m  the  saints,  who  bend 
Humbly  at  His  great  throne, 
Whose  mighty  power  alone, 
Can  to  the  troubled  heart 

Comfort  and  peace  impart ; 
And  heaven  at  last. 


22 


O  night  !  thine  is  the  hour, 

When  my  mind's  mighty  power, 
Traces,  on  swiftest  wings, 
All  my  life's  wanderings  ; 
Bringing  back  unto  me 

Plainly,  the  memory 
Of  days  long  past. 

O  night !  unto  my  breast 

Bring  sweet  forgetfulness  ; 
Let  not  my  mind  e'er  stray 
Back  o'er  youth's  joyous  way, 
Or  pluck  from  past  away, 

One  brilliant,  blissful,  day , 
Or  careless  hour. 

O  night  !  unto  my  heart 

Sweet,  quiet  peace  impart ; 
Teach  my  wild,  roving  thought 
To  deem  the  past  as  nought, 
And  lift  my  eyes  above  ; 

Trusting  in  His  great  love 
And  mighty  power. 


THE  STORM. 

'O-NIGHT  the  Storm-king  holds  o'er  earth  his  sway  ; 

The  lightning  flashes — the  thunder  roars, 
And  from  the  lurid  sky,  so  pitchy  black, 

The  rain  in  heavy  torrents  ceaseless  pours. 

Fair  Luna  hides  behind  the  heavy  clouds, 
Her  beams  of  shining,  limpid,  silver  bright, 

And  not  a  star  lends  to  the  gloomy  scene 
Its  ray  of  brilliant  and  mysterious  light. 


23 

Anon  the  dazzling  lightning  flash  reveals 
The  hill,  the  plain,  unto  my  watchful  eyes  ; 

Then  vanishes  the  strange  electric  flash, — 
Again  the  earth  in  solemn  blackness  lies. 

Rave  on  !  O  storm  !  thou  suitest  well  my  mind  ! 

Flash  !  lightning,  flash  !  and  let  my  longing  eyes 
Dream  that  your  glittering  tracks  are  rays  of  light 

Shed  from  the  opening  gates  of  Paradise. 


DREAMS. 

dreamt  : 

'Twas  of  a  garden  rich  with  lovely  flowers, 
Whose  gaudy  hues  and  fragrance  sweet  and  rare, 
Filling  the  air  and  o'er  my  senses  stealing 
Like  magic  wild,  beguiled  my  every  care. 

I  dreamt  : 

'Twas  of  a  tree  whose  limbs  wild  birds  were  filling  ; 

Their  free,  glad  songs  my  sleeping  soul  enchanted  ; 
Their  plumage  gay  the  while  my  eye  delighting, 

As  glimpse  of  heaven  or  land  by  fairies  haunted. 

I  dreamt  : 

'Twas  of  a  hall  ;  bright  lights  were  throwing 

Their  lustre  o'er  a  board  with  dainties  spread  ; 
The  woods,  fields,  sea,  the  vineyards, — all, 

To  the  rich  hoard  their  choicest  treasures  sped. 

I  dreamt  : 

'Twas  of  a  scene  where  wealth  and  pomp 

In  regal  state  their  empty  tokens  flaunted  : 
I  saw  in  all  that  lordly  crowd  not  one 

To  whom  the  boon  of  happiness  was  granted. 


I  dreamt : 

Twas  of  a  ball-room  ;  nimble  feet  were  gliding 

Over  the  floor,  to  music  whose  sweet  measure 
Bewildered  every  sense,  causing  the  heart  to  throb 

With  joy  delirious,  lost  to  all  but  pleasure. 

I  dreamt  : 

It  was  of  forms,  whose  lightest  touch 

Filled  me  with  rapture  ;  Dream  of  joy  ! 
Then  flowers  and  song  and  gilded  hall  of  pride, 

All  sunk  to  naught  in  bliss  without  alloy. 

I  dreamt : 

Their  words  were  truth  ;  ah,  happy  dream  ! 

That  fled  too  soon, — like  morning  dew, — 
Like  mist  before  the  sun  away  it  sped, — 

Like  lightning  flash  or  sunset's  glorious  hue. 

I  dreamt : 

'Twas  of  an  eye  whose  glance  sought  mine  in  love, 

My  spirit,  answering  to  the  look, 
All  else  forsook  ;  alas,  the  vision  fled, 

Dreamland  was  gone  and  starting,  I  awoke. 

I  'woke  and  found  my  garlands  withered  leaves  ; 

I  'woke  and  found  my  grain  was  empty  sheaves; 
I  'woke  and  found  my  birds  were  birds  of  prey  ; 

I  'woke  and  found  the  music  passed  away. 

I  wept  to  find  of  truth  and  love  no  token  ; 

I  wept  to  find  how  lightly  vows  are  broken  ; 
I  wept  to  find  my  kind  friends  all  had  flown  ; 

I  wept  to  find  my  bright  hopes  all  o'erthrown. 

Ah !  dreams  of  beauty,  song  and  light, 
And  friends  so  true  !  Ye  come  no  more 

My  soul  to  cheer  ;  but  through  the  gloom 
I  onward  look  to  Heaven's  bright  shore. 


25 

UNREST. 

Y  mind  to-night  is  not  at  rest ; 

My  spirit  heaves  within  my  breast, 
And  almost  seems  to  take  its  flight 
To  yonder  heaven  so  pure  and  bright, 
And  soar  beyond  the  stars. 

My  mind's  keen  eye  can  almost  see 
The  brilliant  marvelous  mystery, 
That  holds  within  yon  wondrous  space 
Each  whirling  planet  in  its  place, 

Through  all  Time's  fleeting  hours. 

My  spirit  seems  to  roam  at  will 
From  planet  unto  planet,  till 
At  last  the  moon's  clear  shining  beams 
Sink  low  beneath  the  silent  streams, 
And  naught  of  light  remains. 

Then  doth  my  spirit  fold  its  wings 
And  as  the  morning  light  begins, 
Worn  with  its  toilsome  wanderings, 
And  restless,  roving  hoverings, 
Back  to  the  earth  return. 


w 


MEMORIES. 

ITH  the  moonbeams  round  me  streaming, 
In  my  chamber  I  sit  dreaming,— 

Dreaming  of  bright  hopes  o'erthrown ; 
And  my  spirit,  sad  and  weary, 
Clings  with  feeling  lone  and  dreary 

To  the  happy  days  long  flown. 


26 


All  the  world  is  wrapped  in  sadness  ; 
Not  a  sound  disturbs  the  stillness 

Save  the  sighing  of  the  wind, 
And  its  low  and  mournful  sobbing 
Softly  calms  my  heart's  wild  throbbing, 

Gently  rests  my  troubled  mind. 

And  old  mem'ries  round  me  thronging, 
Fill  my  bosom  with  wild  longing 

To  live  childhood's  bright  years  o'er  ; 
Tearing  out  Life's  written  pages, 
And  in  scorn  of  wise  old  sages, 

Be  a  careless  child  once  more. 

Round  me  visions  gather  thickly 
Of  the  ones  I  loved  so  fondly, 

Of  the  ones  so  true  and  dear. 
Though  their  winsome  forms  I  see  not, 
And  their  voices  dear  I  hear  not, 

I  can  feel  their  presence  near. 

Thus  my  spirit  sadly  musing, 
All  forgetfulness  refusing, 

Lingers  fondly  o'er  the  past, 
Till  my  heart  that  throbs  so  wildly, 
And  my  thoughts  so  drear  and  lonely, 

Gentle  slumber  calms  at  last. 


Y 


THE  SEA, 

OU  may  sing  of  the  beauties  of  flowers  and  trees, 

Of  the  fresh  green  woodland's  mysteries, 
Of  halls  that  resound  with  wit  and  mirth, 
Of  wonders  hidden  deep  in  the  earth  ; 
You  may  sing  their  praises,  but,  ah  !  to  me 
There  is  naught  so  dear  as  the  rolling  sea. 


How  wildly  and  madly  the  white  waves  play  ! 
How  they  fling  and  splash  their  brilliant  spray  ! 
They  come  rushing  in  with  a  roaring  tone, 
And  then  glide  back  with  a  sob,  and  moan  ; 
Naught  of  nature  is  half  as  dear  to  me 
As  thou,  O,  tossing,  restless  sea  ! 

I  love  to  sit  on  thy  glittering  sand, 

Or  wander  alone  on  thy  sunny  strand, 

And  gather  the  pebbles  and  quaint,  queer  shells, 

Cast  up  from  from  thy  hidden,  unknown  cells  ; 

O,  would  I  knew  all  thy  mystery, 

O  moaning,  sobbing,  sighing  sea  ! 

****** 

0  sea  !  as  thy  waves  so  memories  come 
To  me,  of  the  days  when  gay  and  young, 

1  mingled  (happy  time  to  me  !), 
'Mong  those  now  severed  far  from  me  ; 
Some  in  strange  countries  took  their  way, 
And  others  have  gone  to  a  Brighter  day. 

Roll  on,  O  sea,  for  far  away 
Is  my  roving  mind  and  heart  to-day  ; 
Perhaps  thy  music  can  drive  from  me 
The  grief  for  those  I  no  more  will  see  ; 
So  cheer  my  soul  with  thy  sturdy  roar, 
And  I  will  think  of  the  past  no  more. 


THE  COAT  MAKES  THE  MAN  OF  TO-DAY. 


'HERE'S  many  queer  sayings  we  hear  every  day, 
And  some  are  quite  "stale,"  some  are  new  ; 

But  the  one  I  will  mention  in  this  little  rhyme 
Is  something,  alas,  that's  "  too  true  "  ; 


28 

No  matter  how  gifted  or  worthy  you  be, 

As  you  hurry  along  on  life's  way, 
If  seedy  your  clothes,  you'll  be  slighted  and  scorned  ; 

For  the  coat  makes  the  man  of  to-day. 

A  man  may  be  vile  as  the  vilest  can  be  ; 

If  he  cloaks  all  his  sin  beneath  gold  ; 
Now-a-days  he  is  sought  after,  fawned  on  and  praised, 

And  looked  up  to  by  both  young  and  old  ; 
While  he  legally  plunders  his  poor  fellow-men  ; 

Grinds  the  hearts  of  the  poor  day  by  day  ; 
His  wealth  shuts  the  eyes  of  his  friends  to  his  crimes, 

For  the  coat  makes  the  man  of  to-day. 

Degenerate  mankind,  alas,  cherished  gold 

And  fine  clothes,  more  than  virtue  and  brains  ; 
And  the  man  who  can  spend  out  the  most  for  display, 

The  highest  position  attains  ; 
But  the  day  will  soon  come  when  a  man's  honest  worth 

Will  stamp  him — and  people  will  say  : 
"  Give  us  honor  and  truth,  not  tinsel  and  dross," 

Though  the  coat  makes  the  man  of  to-day. 


THE  FOUR  SUNS. 


E  was  a  laughing,  bright-eyed,  merry  boy, 

Who  romped  and  played  with  heart  so  light  and  gay, 

With  his  young  mates,  while  o'er  the  distant  hills 
Shone  warm  the  fading  light  of  summer's  day  ; 

The  sunset  tinted  all  the  scene  with  gold, 
Yet  all  unheeded  passed  the  glad  hours  by, 


29 


Till  at  the  homestead  door  his  mother  stands 
And  gazes  on  the  scene  with  lovelit  eye, 

And  soon  I  hear  her  say,  "  Come  home  my  pet, 
'T  is  time  my  little  boy  was  safe  in  bed — 
The  sun  has  set." 

The  years  roll  by  ;  the  boy  to  manhood  grown, 

With  bearded  cheek  and  form  erect  and  strong, 
Has  singled  out  from  loveliest  womankind 

The  one  to  cherish  most  through  all  life  long ; 
Implicit  faith  he  places  in  her  truth, 

Affection  gives  the  holiest  man  can  pay  ; 
Alas  !  as  time  flies  by  he  finds  her  false  ; 

His  joy-crowned  future  passes  slow  away  ; 
Heart-broken  though  he  be,  he  knows  not  yet 

That  from  his  life  the  brightest  light  has  gone — 
Love's  sun  has  set. 

Years  still  glide  on  among  life's  busiest  throng  ; 

We  find  him  now — Ambition  rules  his  soul  ; 
He  strives 'gainst  poverty,  hate,  malice — all  — 

Works  with  a  will  to  win  the  wished-for  goal ; 
Alas  !  his  step  grows  slow,  his  eyes  grow  dim, 

His  idle  hands  hang  listless  by  his  side  ; 
Into  vice,  drunkenness  and  shame 

He  careless  drifts  upon  life's  changing  tide  ; 
His  guardian  angel's  eyes  with  tears  are  wet, 

His  warning  voice  is  all  unheeded  now — 

Hope's  sun  has  set 

A  few  more  years,  and  then  an  humble  hearse 
Passes  along  the  dusty,  worn  highway, 

Bearing  away  to  rest  and  peace  at  last 

The  poor,  world-worn,  spirit-broken  clay  ; 

No  funeral  knell  rings  out  upon  the  air, 

No  mourners  gather  round  the  humble  tomb  ; 


3° 


His  friends,  the  few  he  had,  are  scattered  far, 
Or  else  are  careless  what  may  be  his  doom  ; 

But  in  the  great  Hereafter  he  may  yet 
Find  what  he  vainly  sought  on  earth — 

Life's  sun  has  set. 


PHILOSOPHY. 

>OMETIMES  the  cross  we  have  to  bear 
r     Seems  far  too  heavy  for  our  strength, 
And  often  do  our  footsteps  lag 

Along  life's  path  of  weary  length  ; 
Yet  push  ahead,  the  way  will  clear, 

These  stumbling  blocks  must  be  withstood  ; 
And  oft  events  that  seem  the  worst 
Are  very  often  for  our  good. 

Do  friends  betray  the  love  you  gave, 

And  prove  themselves  of  little  worth  ? 
Don't  let  that  cloud  your  happiness, 

Nor  banish  from  your  heart  the  mirth  ; 
Your  love  was  pure — your  truth  unstained  ; 

To  them,  not  you,  falls  all  the  shame  ; 
you've  learned  a  lesson,  that  is  all  ; 

You  know  "the  burnt  child  dreads  the  flame. 

Live  in  yourself,  'tis  better  far  ; 

For  '•  friends  "  so  often  fail  us  now  ; 
Then  stand  alone  and  meet  your  fate 

With  steady  heart  and  fearless  brow  ; 
Press  on  your  way,  the  road  will  clear, 

The  storms  of  life  must  be  withstood  ; 
You'll  find  events  that  seem  the  worst 

Are  very  often  for  our  good. 


PASSING  THOUGHTS. 


OX  SEEING  A  HANDSOME  BOUQUET. 


^   FLOWERS,  sweet  flowers  ! 

So  fragrant  and  so  fair, 
Whose  perfume  sweet  is  wafted  on  the  air  ; 
You  charm  my  senses 
And  delight  my  eye  ; 
Why  must  you  die  ? 

Bright,  laughing  child, 
Whose  dancing,  fairy  feet 

Trip  by  m?  now  to  time  of  laughter  sweet  ; 
You,  in  whose  heart 
Is  happiness  untold, 

Must  you  grow  old  ? 

O,  maiden  pure, 

Of  beauty's  fairest  mold, 

Whose  charms  I  view,  so  rare  and  manifold  ; 
'Tis  sad  to  think, 
Bewitching,  lovely  maid, 

Your  charms  will  fade  ! 

Sweet  thoughts, 

God  planted  in  our  minds  ; 

Whose  presence  lightens  up  our  cross  in  life  ; 

Remembrance  of  our  loved,  that  like  a  sun, 

Shines  on  our  hearts  through  all  the  world's  mad  strife 
Ye,  while  life  lasts, 
And  reason  holds  its  sway, 

Pass  not  away. 


32 

THE  OLD  DRESS. 


W 


ELL,  yes,  it  is  "  shabby,"  don't  laugh  at  it,  pray, 

Just  fold  it  up  neatly  and  put  it  away  ; 
Poor,  worn  out  dress  !  I  will  keep  it  fore'er, 
As  I  would  a  choice  picture  or  lock  of  friend's  hair  ! 
I  will  keep  it  and  prize  it  through  all  life's  strange  changes, 
The  dress  that  I  wore  when  I  earned  my  first  wages. 

Poor  "  green  "  little  girl !     I  can  smile  now,  you  see, 
As  the  place  and  the  scene  in  thought  come  to  me, 
As  with  loud-beating  heat  I  stood  waiting  my  ' '  cue," 
And  trembled  lest  failure  attend  my  "  debut"  ; 
Though  greater  plays  now  my  attention  engages, 
I  prize  the  old  dress  that  helped  earn  my  first  wages. 

What  labor  it  cost  me,  you'll  sure  understand 

When  I  say  every  part  was  made  by  my  own  hand  ; 

How  I  worried  for  fear  the  few  charms  I  possessed 

Should  not  on  that  night  appear  at  their  best. 

Time  flies.     Since  that  night  I  have  trod  many  stages, 

Yet  I  keep  the  old  dress  that  helped  earn  my  first  wages. 

Poor  faded  old  dress  !  there  all  crumpled  you  lie, — 

Your  days  of  "  utility  "  all  have  passed  by  ; 

You  seem  an  old  friend  !      "I  am  foolish,"  you  say  ; 

Perhaps  so  ;  yet  carefully  put  it  away  ; 

Tis  "  useless,"  I  know,  but  through  life's  busy  changes, 

I'll  keep  the  old  dress  that  helped  earn  my  first  wages. 


OBLIVION. 

F  I  should  die  to-morrow,  and  my  eyes 
Were  calmly  closed,  beneath  the  coffin  lid, 

My  voice  be  hushed  to  never  sound  again, 
My  form  from  your  dear  eyes  be  ever  hid, 


33 

You'd  weep  perchance,  beloved  one — your  soft  eyes 

With  honest  heartfelt  tears  might  oft  be  wet  ; 
But,  calm  would  slow  but  surely  come  to  you, 
In  time  you  would  forget. 

Think  not  I  mean  unkindly  when  I  say 

Time  cures  the  worst  heart- wounds — makes  all  things  whole; 
We  weep  to-day — perchance  to-morrow's  sun 

Will  find  all  mirth  and  gladness  in  our  soul. 
The  mem'ry  of  a  thing  that  caused  us  joy 

May  pass  before  the  same  day's  sun  be  set, 
And  newer  scenes  and  loves  replace  the  lost. 
'Tis  human  to  forget. 

So  do  not  chide,  beloved  one,  when  I  say 

That  you'd  forget  me  if  I  passed  away ; 
That  on  your  cheek  would  burn  the  same  warm  glow, 

And  your  lips  wreathe  in  laughter  just  as  gay. 
I  would  not  alter  Life's  most  wise  decree, 

Nor  do  I  "dumb  forgetfulness  "  regret; 
Love  me  to-day — if  I  am  called  away 

I'd  rather  you'd  forget. 


THE  WEED; 

HAD  a  seed  of  some  unknown  plant, 

I  found  it  on  the  wayside  as  I  walked ; 
I  planted  it  and  watered  it  with  care 

And  pictured  all  its  beauty  in  my  thought ; 
My  fancy  saw  in  it  a  blossom  rare, 

Whose  perfume  would  surpass  the  loveliest  flowers 
A  thing  whose  beauty,  symmetry  and  grace 

Would  glad  my  eyes  through  all  the  summer  hours. 


34 

I  planted  deep  the  seed  and  little  dreamed 

Its  life  and  beauty  had  long  since  gone  out  ; 
That  watchful  care,  rich  earth  and  tireless  toil 

Could  never  make  the  withered  seed  to  sprout ; 
How  could  I  know,  unheeded  there  had  fell 

A  hideous  weed  close  by  my  cherished  seed 
And  that  the  care  and  labor  that  I  paid 

Was  benefiting  an  unsightly  weed. 

At  last  a  tender  sprout  came  through  the  earth 

(It  was  the  weed  and  not  my  fancied  hoard)  ; 
I  knew  it  not  but  fondly  dreamed  at  last 

My  tenderness  and  care  would  meet  reward. 
It  grew  apace, — I  v  ceded  it  with  care 

And  sheltered  it  from  winds  in  stormy  hour, 
And  deemed  my  labor  would  be  well  repaid 

The  hour  that  oped  my  rare  and  unknown  flower. 

At  last  it  opened, — 'twas  the  ugly  weed, 

Unsightly  and  a  thing  of  nothing  worth, 
While  it,  the  seed  I  fondly  thought  had  bloomed 

Was  rotting,  mouldering  in  the  moist,  damp  earth 
I  tore  the  weed  and  flung  it  from  me  far  ; 

Angry  and  yet  I  could  but  smile  to  see 
How  weak  I'd  been  to  waste  my  time  and  thought 

Upon  a  seed  of  worth  unknown  to  me. 


When  in  your  life  you  plant  a  cherished  seed, 

And  fancy  that  its  growth  will  beauteous  be, 
And  that  its  loveliness  and  fragrance  pure 

Will  be  a  source  of  endless  joy  to  thee, 
Watch  that  you  do  not  pick  from  out  your  path 

A  dead,  a  withered,  and  a  worthless  seed. 
And,  like  me,  waste  your  labor  and  your  time 

Upon  a  worthless  and  unsightly  weed. 


35 

SOMEBODY'S  WAITING  FOR  ME 


\V /HEN  the  sunlight,  slowly  fading, 
^  Proclaims  the  dying  day, 

And  across  the  fields  and  meadows 

I  homeward  take  my  way  ; 
Just  down  the  turn  in  the  pathway, 

'Neath  the  shade  of  the  old  oak  tree, 
There's  somebody  mild  and  gentle, 
Who  watches  and  waits  for  me. 

She  stands  in  the  waning  sunshine, 

With  the  lovelight  in  her  eye, 
And  her  wind-swung  tresses  floating 

O'er  a  cheek  of  crimson  dye  ; 
With  a  smile  of  joyous  welcome, 

To  meet  me  she  gaily  trips, 
And  a  tender  kiss  awaits  me 

From  somebody's  loving  lips. 

I  name  not  her  age  or  station, 

If  humble  or  proud  she  be, 
But  of  all  the  heaven-given  treasures 

The  dearest  and  best  is  she. 
Too  pure  for  a  thought  of  evil, 

E'er  willing  my  cares  to  share, 
The  queen  of  my  heart's  deep  centre 

Is  she  who  is  waiting  there. 

So  whatever  of  ill  befall  me, 

Through  the  weary  and  tedious  day,- 
As  the  evening  shadows  lengthen, 

And  I  homeward  take  my  way, 
My  heart  and  my  step  grow  lighter 

As  I  near  that  old  oak  tree, 
For  I  know  my  darling's  watching 

And  waiting  to  welcome  me. 


36 

THE  OLD  WIFE'S  SONG. 


W 


E'RE  a  jolly  old  couple,  our  hair  is  gray, 

But  never  a  mite  care  we  ; 
Our  lifeboat  drifts  on  Time's  tranquil  tide, 

And  from  trouble  and  care  we're  free  ; 
Our  steps  are  slow  and  our  frames  are  bent,  - 

There's  a  mist  o'er  our  dim  old  eyes  ; 
Yet  cheerful  we  travel,  hand  in  hand, 

'Neath  pleasant  or  stormy  skies  ; 
Many  long  years  we've  journeyed  on, 

And  the  end  we  can  almost  see  ; 
But  we're  ready  to  go  when  the  Master  calls, 

My  dear  old  man  and  me. 

Seventy  years  we  struggled  on, — 

Our  trials  were  not  a  few  ; 
We  raised  our  family  best  we  could 

Till  each  boy  into  manhood  grew  ; 
Then  they  turned  away  from  the  threshold  worn, — 

Afar  through  the  world  to  roam, 
Till  the  last  loved  one  had  passed  away 

From  the  silent  and  lonesome  home  ; 
Three  wedded  the  mates  that  their  young  hearts  chose  ; 

Two  travel  the  restless  sea  ; 
So  we  live  in  the  old  house  all  alone, 

My  dear  old  man  and  me. 

We  chat  o'er  the  scenes  of  our  youthful  days, 

And  we  laugh  right  merrily, 
As  we  sit  in  the  evening's  quiet  glow, 

O'er  our  cups  of  fragrant  tea ; 
For  love  dies  not  like  the  soft,  dark  tress, 

Or  the  color  of  cheek's  bright  glow  ; 


37 


And  our  hearts  are  just  as  warm  to-day 
As  they  were  long  years  ago  ; 

Together  we  stand  on  the  mystic  shore 
Of  Eternity's  solemn  sea, 

And  we  trust  we  will  safely  cross  to  Him, 
My  dear  old  man  and  me. 


GOING  HOME. 

O_OING  home  !     How  strange  it  sounds  to  me  ! 
^-4      I  who  for  years  have  roamed  o'er  land  and  sea  ; 

So  long  have  clasped  no  hands  save  stranger's  hands ; 

So  long  made  transient  "homes"  in  foreign  lands  ; 
I  scarce  can  realize  all  the  word  implies. 

Going  home  !  "for  rest  and  peace,"  I  say  ! 
Back  to  the  place  where  first  I  saw  the  day ; 
Shall  I  indeed  my  old  friends'  faces  see  ? 
Will  they  indeed  in  true  faith  welcome  me  ? 
Or  shall  I  find,  alas,  affection  dies  ? 

Going  home  !  I  wonder  if  the  flowers 
Are  still  as  fragrant  as  in  the  childhood's  hours  ? 
I  wonder  if  the  old  tree's  standing  yet, 
Beneath  whose  shade  I've  watched  the  grand  sunset 
Gilding  the  rolling  prairies  of  the  west  ? 

Going  home  !  I  eagerly  return 
Back  to  the  hearth  where  dearest  home-fires  burn  : 
Though  friends  forget  or  fail  to  recognize, 
Upon  the  scene  I'll  gaze  with  loving  eyes, — 

My  home — the  spot  on  earth  I  love  the  best ! 


38 

ILLINOIS. 

CAN  hear  the  bells  a-chiming,— 

Bells  that  ring  so  loud  and  gay ; 
Yet  my  thoughts  to-day  turn  backward 

To  my  home  so  far  away ; 
Round  me  flowers  bud  and  blossom, — 

Softest  southern  breezes  blow; 
Though  'tis  Christmas'  joyous  morning, 

Yet  I  see  no  frost  or  snow ; 
I  can  hear  the  Spanish  lady 

Chant  her  strange,  yet  lovely  tune ; 
Near  my  window  are  magnolias, 

And  the  orange's  perfume ; 
Yet  my  northern  heart  is  restless — 

Longings  wild  my  soul  annoy — 
And  I'd  rather  see  the  snow  gleam 

On  the  plains  of  Illinois. 

I  have  crossed  the  grand  old  "  Rockies," 

With  their  snow-capped  heads  so  high,  — 
Gazed  down  in  their  rugged  bosoms, 

Where  the  miner's  treasures  lie ; 
Roamed  o'er  Kansas — Colorado, 

(Beauteous  "  Switzerland  of  the  West  "); 
Watched  the  turbid  Rio  Grande 

Rushing  on  in  wild  unrest ; 
Crossed  the  Gila — Brazos — Pecos — 

Gleaming  rivers  pure  and  bright  ; 
Watched  the  Indians  as  they  gathered 

Round  their  camp-fire's  cheerful  light  ; 
Plucked  the  loveliest  southern  blossoms, — 

Perfumed  sweet,  without  alloy; 
Yet  I'd  rather  have  a  violet 

From  the  plains  of  Illinois. 


39 


Wonder  not  my  heart  turns  backward 

From  these  bright  but  stranger  scenes ; 
That  I'm  longing  for  the  prairies, 

With  their  placid,  gliding  streams ; 
That  I  choose,  from  out  her  sisters, 

Illinois  to  love  the  best, 
And  that  none  like  her  can  ever 

Hold  first  place  within  my  breast ; 
Mountains,  valleys,  caves  and  canons — 

Perfumed  air,  bewildering  song, 
Though  they  win  me  for  a  moment, 

Do  not  claim  my  homage  long, 
I  will  tell  you  now  the  secret — 

Why  I  thus  these  scenes  disown — 
As  a  child  I  roamed  the  prairies, 

And  Chicago  is  my  home. 


LOVE  COMMANDS  ALL. 


'HERE  came  to  a  laughing  country  maid, 

One  beautiful  summer's  day, 
A  fairy  who  bent  at  her  tiny  feet, 

And  in  accents  sweet  did  say  : 
"Thy  merits  so  please  our  fairy  queen, 

She  hath  now  commissioned  me 

X 

To  give  thee  the  choice  of  four  noble  gifts, 

Which  I  now  will  name  to  thee ; 
Thus  spake  my  queen:   '  Doth  she  wish  for  gold, 

Or  honor,  or  love  or  fame, 
Say  I  will  send  her  of  these  four  things 

Whichever  she  chooses  to  name  ' ; 


But  ponder  well  ere  you  choose,  dear  maid, 
For  whatever  thy  choice  shall  be, 

You  must  cling  to  it  through  all  of  life 
And  lose  the  other  three." 


The  maiden  paused  and  a  troubled  shade 

Came  over  her  features  fair ; 
"  'Twould  be  fine,"  she  mused,  "  to  have  the  gold 

With  those  I  love  to  share ; 
But  wealth  alone  could  ne'er  supply 

The  wants  of  this  heart  of  mine, 
I  can  not — dare  not  lay  my  all 

On  Mammon's  gorgeous  shrine; 
And  fame  and  honor  by  such  as  I 

Are  held  but  in  light  esteem ; 
We  value  more  the  woods — the  flowers, 

And  the  sun's  warm,  shining  beam ; 
The  pets  of  the  world's  loud,  praising  crowds 

Oft  carry  a  heavy  heart, 
And  for  peace  of  mind  and  health  and  joy 

With  laurels  would  gladly  part." 

"  And  love — "  her  cheek  flushed  a  deeper  hue, 

And  a  soft  light  in  her  eye 
Shone  forth  with  a  brilliant  joyous  flash, 

That  rivalled  the  sunlit  sky. 
"  I  have  pondered  well  o'er  my  choice,  dear  Fay, 

And  I'll  take  of  thy  queen's  gifts  free, 
The  one  1  deem  will  in  future  years 

Prove  the  dearest  and  best  to  me  ; 
I  choose  that  I  ever  may  be  beloved 

By  him  whom  my  heart  holds  dear, 
And  that  Love  and  I  may  never  part, 

Through  all  of  my  journey  here." 


Quoth  the  fairy,  "  Thy  choice  is  the  richest  one 

That  is  e'er  to  mortals  given, 
For  a  loving  heart  that's  beloved  again, 

Finds  the  earth  almost  a  heaven  !  " 

Then  the  light-winged  fairy  sped  away 

To  her  home  in  the  shady  glade, 
And  told  her  queen  of  the  treasure  chose 

By  the  heart  of  the  lovely  maid. 
Quoth  the  queen  :  "  'Tis  well  with  the  guileless  girl; 

Ho  !   Fairies  !   I  charge  thee,  flee  ! 
And  carry  to  her  not  love  alone, 

But  also  the  other  three  !  '' 


NOBODY  CARES  BUT  MOTHER. 


OULL  many  changes  old  Time  has  wrought 

In  my  life,  so  strange — eventful ; 
And  few  I  find  who  cheer  me  on, 

But  many  I  find  who  censure ; 
And  where'er  I  go,  and  whene'er  the  clouds 

O'er  my  troubled  pathway  hover, 
I  find  it  still,  as  in  childhood's  hours 

That  nobody  cares  but  mother. 

If  the  thorns  pierce  deep  my  way-worn  feet, 

And  no  resting-place  to  cheer  me 
Doth  greet  my  eye,  and  my  voice  falls  dead 

On  ears  that  refuse  to  hear  me; 
How  quickly  my  strength  doth  seem  renewed, 

And  light  all  my  path  doth  cover; 
Ah  !  how  speedy  the  cross  that  I  bear  grows  light 

By  a  cheering  word  from  mother. 


Yes,  friends  of  to-day  may  be  kind  and  true, 

And  love  me  pure — sincerely; 
But  no  love  on  earth  can  e'er  replace 

This  which  I  prize  so  dearly  ; 
And  when  my  journeying  all  are  o'er, 

My  sole  wish  is  no  other 
Than  that  kindly  Fate  will  take  me  back 

To  my  childhood's  home  and  mother. 


BETRAYED. 

E  was  of  proud  and  high  descent, 

She  was  a  peasant  maid  ; 
She  loved  too  well,  alas  !  alas  ! 

A  heavy  price  she  paid  ; 
O  sob,  ye  winds,  with  solemn  tone; 

Sun,  hide  thy  face  from  sight, 
For  she,  so  beautiful  and  fair, 

Is  dying  with  thy  light ! 

O,  bright  and  sparkling  was  her  eye, 

With  lips  of  rosy  red; 
A  face  as  bright  as  yonder  flower, 

And  raven  curl-crowned  head  ! 
So  wan,  so  feeble  lies  she  now  ; 

Birds  !  hush  that  warbling  gay  : 
Her  lovely  eyes  will  close  in  death 

Before  another  day  ! 

A  sad-eyed  mother  watches  o'er 
Her  daughter's  fading  life  ; 

She  is  her  first-born  still, 

Although  a  mother,  but  no  wife  ; 


43 


She  loved — she  trusted — was  deceived — 

On  her  life  fell  the  blight ; 
Aye,  whisper  low,  ye  sobbing  winds, 

For  she  will  die  to-night. 
•*##•## 

Clasp  her  hands  o'er  her  bosom  calm  ; 

Brush  smooth  her  silken  hair ; 
Place  her  dead  baby  on  her  breast, 

And  kiss  her  brow  so  fair ; 
God  knoweth  all — He  knoweth  all 

The  wiles  her  love  that  won  ; 
At  peace  at  last !  poor  hapless  girl ! 

Thy  earthly  cares  are  done. 


TO  MY  OLD  FRIENDS. 


TRUE  old  friends !     O  kind  old  friends  ! 

Dear  friends  I  loved  of  yore  ! 
Your  memory  dwells  within  my  heart, 

As  I  roam  from  shore  to  shore ; 
I've  traveled  far  'mid  splendid  scenes ; 

O'er  mountain,  hill  and  dell, 
And  many  hands  I've  clasped  in  mine 

That  knew  and  loved  me  well ; 
But  new-found  friends  supplant  you  not, 

Ah  !  still  where'er  I  roam, 
My  heart  holds  fast  the  mem'ry  of 

Dear  friends  who  are  at  home. 

Come  clasp  my  hands,  ye  honest  friends, 

That  knew  me  from  a  child; 
With  whom  so  often  merrily 

I  weary  time  beguiled  ; 


44 


I  love  to  feel  the  fervent  press 

Of  your  dear  hands  again ; 
I  long  to  hear  your  voices  loved 

Call  once  again  my  name ; 
Time  brings  great  changes  to  all  lives, - 

But,  till  my  days  are  o'er, 
My  heart  will  hold  a  tender  spot 

For  my  dear  old  friends  of  yore. 


IF. 


F  I  could  only  dream  again 

The  glad,  bright  dreams  of  long  ago, 
And  tear  from  mem'ry's  full  writ  page 

The  scenes  and  deeds  I  so  well  know; 
If  I  could  only  feel  again 

That  honest  trust  in  human  kind, 
And  drive  the  doubt  and  weary  pain 

From  out  my  tired,  world-worn  mind  ; 

If  this  could  be  methinks  whate'er 

Unto  my  lot  might  then  be  sent, 
I'd  bear  with  uncomplaining  heart, 

And  'mid  all  trials  be  content, 
Friends  of  my  youth  !  return,  return  ! 

Kind  friends  of  yore  !  come  clasp  my  hand 
O  leave  me  not  alone  to  toil 

O'er  life's  wild,  rugged  land  ! 

Vain  is  my  call.     Their  faces  loved 
The  scenes  of  earth  no  longer  know ; 

Deep  with  my  youthful  dreams  they're  hid 
Within  the  grave  of  long  ago. 


45 


I  hurry  on.     Few,  few  I  meet 

Can  to  my  heart  give  answering  tone, 

And  when  'mid  gay  and  careless  crowds 
'Tis  then  I  am  the  most  alone. 


LINES. 


TO    A    FRIEND. 

|  THINK  of  me, 

Though  now  our  barks  upon  life's  troubled  sea 
Shall  drift  apart.     Though  it  may  chance  to  be 
That  never  more  as  in  the  pleasant  past 
Our  paths  shall  side  by  side  again  be  cast. 
Yet,  whatso'er  may  be  thy  future  lot, 

Forget  me  not. 

Remember  me, 

And  if  thou  findest  that  the  new  found  friends 
Prove  like  a  reed  in  every  wind  that  bends, 
O  then  bethink  thee  of  the  one  afar, 
Whose  love  shines  o'er  thee  like  a  watching  star, 
Whose  fondest  thoughts  are  centred  all  on  thee, 
Where'er  thou  be. 

But,  dearest  one, 

If  thou  art  beset  by  life's  relentless  storms, 
If  friends  prove  false  ;  if  thy  lone  spirit  mourns, 
And  footsore,  heartsick,  you  would  fain  find  rest, 
Upon  a  loving  and  a  faithful  breast ; 
If  e'er  (which  God  forbid)  such  time  should  be, 
Haste  unto  me. 


46 

LINES. 


ON    HEARING    A    GENTLEMAN    SAY    THE     SPIRIT    OF    HIS    DEAD    W 
SEEMED    ALWAYS    NEAR    HIM. 


HE  is  not  dead. 

I  feel,  I  know  that  she  is  ever  near, 
Her  loving  tones  still  ring  upon  my  ear, 
And  cheer  my  soul  as  in  the  days  of  yore, 
And  though  on  earth  I  ne'er  shall  see  her  more, 

She  has  not  fled. 

Her  soul  lives  still. 
It  lingers  ever  round  my  onward  way, 
With  its  pure  presence  blessing  every  day. 
Beloved  wife  !  her  faith  and  constancy, 
And  her  deep  love  and  confidence  in  me 

Death  could  not  kill. 

Her  graceful  frame, 

Whose  presence  filled  with  joy  my  happy  home, 
Is  hid  from  view,  and  I  am  left  alone. 
But  still  her  gentle  spirit  comes  to  me. 
And  thus,  despite  the  grave's  dark  mystery, 

She  lives  again. 

So  on  in  life 

I  journey  with  a  cheerful,  thankful  heart, 
And  humbly  bear  of  toil  and  care  my  part. 
Soon  will  I  clasp  her  cherished  form  once  more, 
Soon  will  I  meet  upon  yon  blissful  shore 

My  angel  wife. 


47 


GOD'S  CHRISTMAS  GIFT, 


'/'TWAS  Christmas  day, 
^r  The  pure  snow  lay 
Deep  o'er  the  slumbering,  silent  earth  ; 
While  all  around 
Was  heard  the  sound 
Of  innocent,  careless,  heartfelt  mirth. 

By  rushed  a  throng, 
With  laugh  and  song, 

Of  school-girls  chatting  of  Christmas  cheer  ; 
Unheeding  one 
Who,  pale  and  young, 
And  empty-handed,  lingered  near. 

As  they  passed  away, 
With  hearts  so  gay, 
I  turned  to  the  maiden  standing  near, 
And  gaily  said, 
As  she  raised  her  head, 
",Well,  what  did  Santa  bring  you,  dear?  " 

Her  dark  brown  eyes 

Looked  their  surprise, 
As  she  said,  "O  Miss,  we  are  but  poor; 

We  deem  it  wealth, 

If  perfect  health 
And  food  are  plenty  within  our  door. 

"So,  Miss,  you  see 

That  such  as  we 
Are  well  content  these  toys  to  spare. 

I'covet  not 

A  richer  lot, 
Of  greater  treasures  I  have  a  share. 


48 


' '  For  one  above 

In  gracious  love, 
Th  s  day  to  me  has  kindly  given 

A  pleasure  rare, 

A  gem  most  fair, 
It  is  the  Christian's  hope  of  Heaven. 

"  Last  night  so  plain 
This  message  came, 
'  For  thee  was  Jesus  crucified.' 
He  reigns  above, 

0  trust  his  love, 

And  he  will  be  thy  refuge — guide." 

Her  eyes  were  raised 

To  meet  my  gaze, 
As  she  said  (I  still  her  image  see), 

"He  died  for  me, 

Low  as  I  be, 
Christ  was  God's  Christmas  gift  to  me." 

1  bowed  my  head, 
No  word  I  said, 

A  lesson  deep  in  my  heart  was  laid. 

O  would  that  I 

Could  look  on  high, 
With  the  trust  and  faith  of  that  little  maid  I 


TO  A  CHILD. 

RIGHT,  happy  childish  face, 
That  beams  with  fairy  grace, 

Loved  one  so  dear ; 
Thy  little  dancing  form, 
Resplent  with  baby  charm, 

Sheds  sunshine  here. 


49 

That  little  rosy  palm, 
And  snowy,  dimpled  arm, 

And  brow  so  fair, 
Seem  formed  to  bless  the  earth, 
And  change  to  happiness 

The  darkest  care. 

Thy  voice  so  sweet  and  clean, 
And  tiny  feet  e'er  near, 

And  loving  heart, 
Unto  my  troubled  breast, 
So  full  of  wild  unrest, 

Sweet  calm  impart. 

Dear  child,  in  thee  I  find 
One  who  with  constant  mind, 

Loves  me  alone  ; 
Whose  lisped  words  are  truth, 
Whose  love  of  honest  youth 

Is  all  my  own. 


BRIDAL  AND  FUNERAL  FLOWERS. 


"  QRIDAL  and  funeral  flowers." 
_      Those  were  the  words  it  bore, 
Shining  in  letters  bright, 
Over  the  florist's  door. 

"  Bridal  and  funeral  flowers," 

Coupling  thus  as  one 
The  bride  and  the  cold,  stiff  corse, 

Whose  race  of  life  is  run. 


One  who  will  soon  go  forth 

A  happy,  trusting  wife, 
And  one  who  in  Death's  calm  sleep 

Is  safe  from  the  cares  of  life. 

As  I  read  the  words  I  think 

'Tis  in  white  they  robe  the  bride, 

When  she  stands  in  modest  grace 
By  her  chosen  husband's  side. 

And  in  white  they  clothe  the  corse, 

While  the  cold,  pale  hand,  perchance, 

Holds  the  mate  to  the  bridal  flower, 
Perhaps  from  the  selfsame  branch. 

"Bridal  and  funeral  flowers," 
Blooming  there  side  by  side, 

To  be  placed  in  the  dead's  cold  hand, 
Or  twined  in  the  hair  of  the  bride. 

"Bridal  and  funeral  flowers," 
Happiness — death  and  gloom, 

Written  thus  side  by  side, 

Life — and  the  dark,  cold  tomb. 

But  who  is  the  one  to  tell 

Which  is  most  truly  blest  ? 
The  bride  in  her  youthful  pride, 

Or  she  who  is  safe  at  rest  ? 


UNDER  THE  WILLOW. 


NDER  the  willow  I  stand  to-night, 

And  the  stars  above  shed  solemn  light 
O'er  the  scene  I  have  come  to  view  once  more, 
Ere  I  leave  forever  my  native  shore. 


Under  the  willow  I  stand  and  gaze 

On  the  ruined  home  of  my  youthful  days  ; 

What  vanished  bliss  my  heart  recalls, 

As  I  look  on  the  stained  and  crumbled  walls. 

Within  that  home  I  was  born  and  bred  ; 
There  sounded  my  sister's  and  brother's  tread. 
In  that  home  were  spent  the  happy  years 
Ere  I  faced  the  world  with  its  toil  and  fears. 

Within  its  walls  died,  one  by  one, 

The  loving  parents,  the  children  young  ; 

And  I  alone  am  left  to  gaze 

On  its  ruined  walls,  'neath  the  stars'  calm  rays. 

Can  all  these  years  have  passed  ?     It  seems 
But  a  day  when  amid  these  remembered  scenes 
Though  my  eye  then  bright,  is  dimmed  now, 
And  deep,  dark  wrinkles  mark  my  brow. 

Home,  churchyard  willow!  I  leave  you  all ; 
Those  long  past  years  I  cannot  recall ; 
The  pain  it  costs  me  I  cannot  tell, 
To  turn  away  with  a  sad  farewell. 


LINES. 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A    CHILD. 


jEARLY  loved  one,  thou  hast  vanished, 
Thy  bright  baby  form  has  perished  ; 

Thou  art  now  beyond  the  stars. 
Nevermore  we'll  hear  thee  singing, 
With  thy  voice  so  clear  and  ringing  ; 
Mem'ry  only  now  is  ours. 


Though  my  heart  is  full  of  sadness, 
And  my  life  seems  void  of  gladness, 

Since  thy  childish  form  has  fled ; 
Still,  I  would  not  now  recall  thee  ; 
Better  far  that  thou  should'st  calmly 

Slumber  with  the  quiet  dead. 

Better,  ere  thy  heart  so  blithesome, 
Learned  how  sad,  and  drear,  and  toilsome 

Is  the  lot  of  all  on  earth ; 
Ere  the  time  when  thou  would'st  sadly 
Wish  thy  mother  (grieving  fondly) 

Ne'er  had  given  thee  thy  birth. 

'Round  thy  grave  bright  flowers  are  springing, 
And  the  notes  of  wild  birds  singing, 

Fill  the  air  at  eventide. 
O'er  thy  headstone,  coldly  gleaming, 
Summer  sun  so  brightly  streaming, 

Seemeth  longest  to  abide. 

Peaceful  is  thy  quiet  slumber; 
Thou  among  the  heavenly  number, 

Safe  from  care  will  ever  be. 
When  my  journey  is  completed, 
May  we  then  be  re-united 

In  the  glad  Eternity. 


53 

MY  BIRD'S  SONG. 


'IS  a  stormy  day  and  the  heavy  clouds 

Hang  low  with  a  frowning  mien  ; 
The  rain  pours  down  and  no  friendly  ray 

From  old  hidden  Sol  is  seen. 
I  sit  alone  in  my  study  here, 

And  wish  that  the  clouds  were  gone, 
While  Dick,  my  bird,  in  his  cage  near  by 

Sings  to  me  through  the  storm. 

Anon  the  clouds  of  the  deepest  dye 

Are  cleft  by  the  lightning's  flash, 
And  the  rain  with  fury  fierce  and  wild, 

'Gainst  my  window  pane  doth  dash. 
But  Dick  unheeds  the  dark  outside; 

(In  the  South  first  he  saw  the  dawn), 
And  as  if  he  was  'mong  his  native  hills, 

Sings  to  me  through  the  storm. 

And  I  smile  as  I  hear  his  merry  lay, 

As  it  rings  so  quaint  and  sweet, 
As  I  watch  the  poise  of  his  dainty  head, 

And  the  dance  of  his  busy  feet. 
My  eye  grows  bright,  and  my  weary  brain 

Forgets  it  is  racked  and  worn, 
And  I  say,  "sing  on,  my  merry  bird, 

O  sing  to  me  through  the  storm." 

#  #  #  •*  #  * 

O,  would  that  all  in  this  selfish  world, 

In  the  hurrying,  grasping  throng, 
Could  have  in  their  souls  a  hidden  hope, 

Or  a  love  that  is  deep  and  strong, 
That  would  light  their  lives  with  a  gleam  of  light 

When  time  leaves  them  bereft  and  worn, 
And  ring  in  their  hearts  through  the  world's  mad  strife 

Like  my  bird's  song  through  the  storm. 


54 

FOOTSTEPS  ON  THE  STAIR. 


•ITTING  in  my  room  at  twilight, 

In  the  last  faint  sunset's  glow, 
Watching  the  fast  coming  shadows 

Flitting  softly  to  and  fro. 
Hushed  is  now  all  busy  turmoil, 

Ended  is  the  day  of  care, 
And  I,  listening,  wait  the  coming 

Of  a  footstep  on  the  stair. 

Hark  !   I  hear  the  firm  tread  sounding, 

Eagerly  he  comes  to  meet 
One  he  knows  awaits  his  coming, 

One  who  waits  with  welcome  sweet. 
Though  to  others  I  am  humble, 

In  his  eyes  I  am  most  fair; 
Sweetest  music  to  my  hearing 

Is  his  footstep  on  the  stair. 

Lo,  he  comes !  Ah,  when  Life's  over, 

And  my  days  on  earth  are  past, 
When  my  heart,  so  strange  and  wayward, 

Shall  be  silent — calm  at  last, 
Love  dies  not — my  soul  in  Heaven, 

Though  within  that  realm  so  fair, 
Still  will  watch  for  you,  my  darling, 

Coming  up  the  golden  stair. 


55 

LINES. 


TO    AN    OLD    FRIEND. 


MET  the  friend  I  loved  when  but  a  child, 
And  as  I  clasped  again  his  honest  hand 
And  looked  once  more  into  his  earnest  eyes 
I  was  the  happiest  mortal  in  the  land. 
The  long  years  sped  since  last  I  saw  his  face 
Seemed  but  a  dream — a  dream  most  strange  and  wild, 
For  by  his  side  the  years  seemed  lifted  up, 
And  I  again  a  careless,  happy  child. 
Yet  pause  I  even  now  to  note  the  change 
The  stamp  of  manhood  shows  upon  his  face, 
While  on  my  brow  are  lines  of  anxious  care — 
(The  lot  of  all  in  Life's  eventful  race,) 

Yet  O  what  joy  !   (and  joys  in  life  are  few,) 
It  is  to  see  your  face,  O  friend  so  true  ! 

O  cruel  Time  !  to  thus  so  quickly  speed, 
And  leave  your  traces  on  our  hearts  and  brows. 
Relentless  Time  !   that  crushes  out  our  youth, 
Before  whose  power  the  mightiest  mortal  bows, 
Yet,  ah  !  you  cannot  touch  the  sacred  Past, 
Nor  turn  to  blank  Youth's  written  pages  fair, 
When  Love  was  truth  and  Friendship  not  a  name, 
And  Childhood  built  its  "  castles  in  the  air." 
So  tarry  by  my  side,  beloved  friend  ; 
Take  once  again  my  hand  within  your  own, 
And  let  me  sit  and  look  upon  your  face, 
And  listen  to  your  voice's  kindly  tone. 

Friends  of  To-day,  I  do  not  doubt  their  truth, 
But,  ah  !   they  cannot  be  the  friends  of  youth. 


56 

ONLY  A  TRESS  OF  HAIR. 


jNLY  a  tress  of  soft,  dark  hair, 

And  yet  'twill  be, 
Whatever  fate  this  world  may  bring, 

Most  dear  to  me. 

The  head  this  tress  adorned 

Has  laid  in  rest, 
In  true,  confiding  love, 

Upon  my  breast. 

The  tress  was  severed  then 

That  it  might  be 
A  token  dear  from  her,  my  friend, 

Who  so  loved  me. 

Dark  storms  have  crossed  my  path 

Since  last  we  met, 
And  yet  her  dear  and  loving  face 

I'll  ne'er  forget. 

The  sweet,  low  voice  is  silent  now, 

The  head  laid  low, 
And  o'er  her  grave  on  yonder  hill 

The  flowers  grow. 

Time  brought  me  many  trials  sore, 

And  heavy  care, 
And  yet  I  fondly  cherish  still 

Her  tress  of  hair. 


57 

OLD  LOVE  SONGS. 


WAS  singing  to-day  the  o!d  love  songs 

With  their  plaintive  tones  so  low, 
The  old  love  songs  that  I  sang  for  you 

In  the  far-off  long  ago  ; 
And  as  I  sung  the  sweet  refrain 

Of  each  well-remembered  lay, 
My  mind  was  musing  all  the  while 

Where  you  might  be  to-day  ? 

'Twas  long  ago — on  a  summer's  eve — 

When  you  were  by  my  side, 
And  I  was  a  laughing,  careless  thing, 

Your  childlike  promised  bride, 
I  sang — as  the  birds  sing — merrily, 

And  my  voice  was  full  and  free, 
But  the  meaning  hid  in  the  tender  words, 

Was  not  then  plain  to  me. 

Time  flies  !     I  am  here  and  you  afar. 

With  the  long  miles  stretched  between  ; 
Life's  cares  have  blotted  the  fairy  dream, 

And  changed  our  lots  I  ween. 
I  do  not  regret — it  is  better  so — 

Yet  my  tears  they  fall  like  rain, 
As  I  hum  to  myself  the  plaintive  strains 

Of  those  old  love  songs  again. 

For  before  me  rises  a  laughing  face, 

Youthful  and  free  from  guile, 
A  child,  within  whose  bosom  pure 

Were  innocent  thoughts  the  while, 
Who  trusted  her  kind  with  an  honest  trust, 

Gave  to  all  her  pure  love's  wealth  ; 
But  I  scarce  can  recognize  in  her, 

My  cold,  world-hardened  self. 


The  tears  they  come,  and  I  let  them  fall, 

But  I  do  not  weep  for  you, 
I  weep  for  my  vanished,  youthful  dreams 

Of  all  things  good  and  true. 
I  weep  that  Time  has  torn  the  veil 

That  Fancy  hung  afar. 
And  that  now  I  see  with  a  worldly  eye 

All  things  as  they  truly  are. 

So  I'll  sing  no  more  the  old  love  songs 

That  I  sung  so  long  ago, 
A  laughing  girl,  as  you  listening  sat 

In  the  twilight's  peaceful  glow, 
Their  strains  suit  not  my  present  lot 

With  their  tender  words  of  truth, 
And  their  plaintive  tones  seem  a  requiem, 

Sung  o'er  the  deep  grave  of  youth. 


IMPOSSIBILITIES. 


\fO\J  cannot  wake  the  singer's  song, 

When  dumb  is  the  voice  of  the  singer  ; 
You  cannot  start  a  torrent  forth, 

If  dry  is  the  source  of  the  river  ; 
You  cannot  ring  sweet  chiming  tones 

From  a  bell  of  the  coarsest  metal, 
Nor  race  with  a  common,  plodding  horse, 

That  has  no  pride  or  mettle. 
No  more  within  a  human  heart 

Can  generous  thoughts  be  hoarded, 
Kind  words  be  spoke — good  actions  done- 

If  the  soul  is  mean  and  sordid. 


59 

So  ope  your  hearts,  all  ye  who  read, 

And  end  this  selfish  grasping, 
Be  generous,  frank — be  honest,  true, 

Let  Friendship's  ties  be  lasting, 
Reach  out  and  aid  deserving  poor, 

Soothe  all  you  can  of  sorrow  ; 
Don't  fawn  upon  a  man  to-day 

And  slander  him  to-morrow. 
This  world  He  made  so  beautiful, 

Why  fill  so  full  of  trouble  ? 
Why  smile,  when  some  poor  brother's  path 

Is  filled  with  thorns  and  stubble  ? 

O  shame  that  man  to  fellow  man, 

Doth  oft  deal  hate  unbounded  ! 
That  rather  than  to  cheer  him  on 

They  try  to  drag  him  downward  ! 
Expand  your  soul  with  noble  thoughts 

Drive  out  all  there  that's  sordid, 
No  kindly  act  was  ever  done 

Conscience  has  not  rewarded. 
Be  just,  be  kind — joy's  sun  will  shine 

On  you  with  rays  undimming, 
If,  in  your  heart,  you  feel  the  world 

Is  better  for  your  living. 


IN  MEMORIAL 

LOVED  you  so 

That  when  you  passed  away  from  out  my  path, 
O'er  day's  bright  sun  for  me  a  cloud  was  cast, 
I  was  so  lonely — living  was  a  pain  ; 
I  thought  my  lips  would  never  smile  again, 
I  loved  you  so. 


6o 


You  passed  away. 

I  stood  as  stranger  on  a  foreign  strand, 
And  groped  in  space  for  your  beloved  hand. 
With  throngs  about  me  who  in  kindness  spoke, 
My  heart,  I  think,  on  that  sad  day  was  broke, 
You  passed  away. 

The  years  rolled  by 

And  newer  forms  and  loves  came  to  my  lot ; 
They  comrades  were — but  you  were  not  forgot, 
In  Mem'ry's  hall  you  sat  upon  your  throne 
King  of  my  love — the  sceptre  all  your  own, 
The  years  rolled  by. 

'Twas  long  ago, 

And  yet  with  whitened  hair  and  trembling  frame 
I  listen  still  to  hear  your  voice  again, 
And  eager  scan  the  faces  passing  by, 
Until  remembrance  comes  and  then  I  sigh 
"'Twas  long  ago." 


"I  WANT  MY  BALLOON." 


S  I  walked  down  the  street  one  bright  sunny  day, 

A  comical  sight  met  my  gaze  ; 
A  scene  that  for  mixture  of  sorrow  and  fun, 

Will  haunt  me  through  all  of  my  days  : 
On  the  walk  stood  a  child,  who  with  ' '  Injun-like  "  yells 

Of  dismay,  stared  up  to  the  sky, 
Where  a  tiny,  red  object  was  floating  away 


6i 

And  fast  growing  dim  to  the  eye  ; 
As  nearer  I  came  he  loudly  bawled  out, 
"  I  don't  want  to  lose  it  so  soon, — 

0  please  catch  it  quickly  !  O  make  it  come  back  ! 
I  want  my  nice,  pretty  balloon  !  " 

"  Little  lad,"  then  I  said,  ' '  it  will  never  return  ; 

Why  did  you  let  go  of  the  string  ? 
Pray  did  you  not  know  when  you  loosened  your  hold 

Your  plaything  would  surely  take  wing? 
"  Why  ma'am,"  sobbed  the  child,  ' '  I  thought  it  would  stay 

And  float  close  above  me,  until 

1  wearied  of  watching  it  bob  up  and  down, 

And  could  draw  it  back  to  me  at  will  ; 
O,  won't  you  please  stop  it  ?  it's  floating  away  ! 

I  don't  want  to  lose  it  so  soon  ! 
O  somebody  catch  it  !  it's  going  so  fast ! 

Do  stop  my  nice,  rosy  balloon  !  " 


Ah  !  many  there  be  in  this  world's  busy  throng, 

Who  held  in  their  hands  the  frail  string 
That  bound  to  themselves  wealth,  laurels  or  love, 

Or  some  other  valuable  thing  ; 
But  alas !  like  the  child,  they  loosened  their  grasp, 

Perhaps  merely  testing  their  power, 
But  realized  too  late  what  their  recklessness  wrought, 

As  they  watched  it  soar  'bove  them  so  far  ; 
Then  frantic,  they  strove  their  hold  to  regain, 

But  too  oft  'tis  humanity's  doom, 
To,  by  their  own  folly,  lose  what  they  prize  most, 

And  then  cry  for  their  vanished  balloon! 


62 

MY  CHOICE. 

BY    A    GIRL    OF    THE    PERIOD. 


'D  HAVE  a  lover  brave  and  true, — 

A  fond  adorer  ever  ; 
Who'll  woo  me  with  untiring  zeal, 

And  be  inconstant  never  ; 
Who'll  boldly  seek  and  gain  my  hand, 

And  "bounce"  each  other  "feller''  ; 
Who  if  a  rival  dared  approach, 

Would  hit  him  on  the  "smeller."' 

I'd  have  him  have  a  heart  and  soul 

O'erflowed  with  truth  and  daring  ; 
Who  knew  his  rights  and  claimed  them  too, 

Without  a  shade  of  fearing  ; 
Who'd  ever  press  his  earnest  suit 

With  honest,  manly  spirit  ; 
Who'd  want  my  love,  and  dare  to  strive 

Before  all  men  to  win  it. 

Some  girls  would  like  a  handsome  chap, 

Who  brings  them  rings  and  candy  ; 
Some  like  a  man  with  lots  of  "  tin," 

And  some  could  love  a  dandy  ; 
Some  like  a  timid  chap  who  e'er 

'Twixt  hope  and  fear  doth  hover  ; 
But  none  of  these  could  suit  my  mind, 

I  want  a  dashing  lover. 

He  need  not  be  so  very  rich, 
If  he  do  love  but  me, 


And  does  not  flirt  with  other  girls 
When  I'm  not  near  to  see  ; 

If  such  a  fellow  breathes  on  earth 
On  him  my  heart  is  set, 

And  when  I  catch  a  sight  of  him 
I'll  ' '  set  my  cap  "  you  bet. 


WANTED:    A  WIFE. 


BY    A    BACHELOR. 

'M  WHAT  the  cold  world  calls  a  "  bach, 

I'm  looking  for  a  wife  ; 
Some  gentle  and  obedient  girl, 

To  bless  my  lonely  life  ; 
I've  waited  now  for  forty  years 

But  never  met  my  doom, 
And  so  to-day  I  advertise, 

In  hopes  to  find  her  soon. 

I  have  a  span  of  splendid  grays,— 

A  "  nobby  "  carriage  too  ; 
Have  lots  of  "  stamps" — am  5  ft.  6 — 

Kind,  generous  and  true  ; 
But,  to  all  widows  seeing  this, 

I  herewith  do  imply, 
That  I  abhor  all  "  relics,"  so 

No  widows  need  apply  I 

And  to  old  maids  both  tall  and  short, 

I  solemnly  do  state, 
That  I  would  sooner  die  than  have 

A  spinster  for  my  mate ; 


64 


Their  fate  waits  toward  the  setting  sun, 
They'll  please  the  men  there  best, 

To  spinsters,  I  (like  Greeley)  say  ; 
"Go  west,"  old  girls,  "Go  west." 

I  want  a  lovely,  sprightly  miss 

Of  eighteen  years,  or- less, 
With  raven  hair  and  eyes  of  jet, 

And  greatest  taste  in  dress  ; 
She  must  be  learned  and  rich — to  such 

A  willing  slave  am  I, 
And  here  I  say  to  one  and  .all, 

No  others  need  apply. 


"OLD  YALLER." 


OR  "BETTING  MONEY  ON  THE  WRONG  DOG. 


'HIS  happened  way  out  in  the  "  diggins," 

An'  Bill  run  a  gin-shop  out  thar  ; 
He  was  sort  of  an  onery  customer, 

With  a  squint  an'  a  shock  o'  red  hair  ; 
He  had  an  old  dorg  he  called  "  Yaller," — 

Bill  said  he  was  great  on  the  fight  ; 
But  Lord  !  we  thought  he  was  lyin', 

Or  talkin'  because  he  was  tight. 

But  it  seems  Bill,  over  in  England, 

Was  a  "  dorg  fightin'  man,"  as  they  say, 
An'  that  this  here  mean-lookin'  old  "  Yaller," 

Had  licked  every  dorg  in  his  way  ; 
He  was  a  meek  lookin'  old  cretur, . 

He'd  "make  up  "  with  the  men  old  an'  young, 
But  a  rale  rip-tarer  when  started, 

As  you'll  see  when  my  story  is  done. 


One  day  a  young  chap  struck  the  "  diggins," — 

He  was  travelin'  on  to  New  York 
With  a  bull-purp — could  lick  a  hyena — 

To  believe  all  his  long-winded  talk  ;  — 
Durn  my  skin,  but  his  dorg  was  a  stunner. 

Trim  an'  stout,  iron-jawed  an'  red-eyed  ; 
An'  none  on  us  doubted  the  cretur 

Could  show  rale  game  fight,  when  he  tried. 

Wai,  this  chap  an'  his  dorg  was  one  mornin' 

Sort  o'  loafin'  around  nigh  Bill's  bar, 
When  old  "  Yaller  "  came  trottin'  in  meek-like, 

(He  allus  was  sneakin'  round  thar)  ; 
The  bull-purp  started  for  ' '  Yaller," 

But  the  New  York  chap  collared  his  pup, 
And  hollered  out,  "Shut  up  that  dorg  thar, 

If  you  don't  want  him  total  chawed  up." 

"  You  see  my  dorg's  trained  for  a  fighter, 

An'  when  he  sees  dorg,  black  or  white, 
He'll  pitch  in  if  I  ain't  a  watchin', 

An'  chaw  the  same  dorg  out  of  sight ; 
I'd  hate  like  the  devil  to  have  him 

Kill  that  good  natured  old  dorg  o'  yourn, 
But  keep  him  tied  up  while  I'm  here,  Bill, 

Or  he's  gone  dorg  sure  as  you're  born." 

Bill  grinned,  then  he  said,  "why,  old  '  Yaller,' 

He's  no  good — all  the  time  in  the  way, 
'Spose  we  have  a  dorg-fight  in  the  bar-room, 

Come  stranger,  what  do  you  say  ; 
An'  to  make  the  thing  sort  o'  excitin', 

As  '  Yaller's  '  my  dorg,  I'll  just  bet 
One  hundred,  that  he  in  ten  minutes, 

Will  clean  out  yer  prize-fightin'  pet." 


66 


"  Poor  '  Yaller/  "  says  Bill,  sort  o'  soft-like, 

"  Yer  time  has  most  come  for  to  die," 
An"  "  Yaller"  looked  up — tail  a  waggin', 

With  a  kind  o'  sly  wink  in  his  eye  ; 
An'  Bill  hollered  out,  "  Come  on  in  boys, 

Come  an'  see  this  'ere  prize-nghtin'  pup, 
(We  must  have  some  little  excitement), 

So  he's  goin'  to  chaw  '  Yaller  '  up." 

Wai  we  come  in,  each  man  held  his  dorg  thar ; 

Old  "  Yaller  "  was  snarlin'  like  mad, 
An'  you  bet  the  bull-purp  was  a  snappin' 

A  lookin'  most  all-fired  bad  ; 
At  the  word  the  dorgs  met — in  a  minnit 

' '  Yaller  ''  had  the  prize  dorg  by  the  throat, 
An'  he  shook,  an'  he  chawed,  never  givin' 

The  bull-purp  a  chance  for  a  holt. 

An'  he  shook  till  the  purp  "  kicked  the  bucket," 

Then  he  trotted  quite  cool  like  away 
As  if  he'd  done  nothin'  uncommon, 

But  chawed  up  bull-purps  every  day  ; 
An'  Bill  gobbled  up  the  bet  money, 

Smilin'  like  at  the  defunct  bull-purp, 
An'  says  he,  ' '  Who  else  here's  got  a  dorg  now 

That  wants  to  chaw  old  '  Yaller  '  up  /> " 

The  city  chap  sneaked  off  quite  quiet, 

An'  left  for  New  York  the  next  day  ; 
Old  "  Yaller  "  is  trottin'  around  yet, 

Quite  innercent-like  in  his  way  ; 
Bill's  jolly  as  ever — an'  boastin' 

An'  braggin'  about  his  old  pup, 
An'  never  gets  tired  a  tellin' 

How  the  prize  dorg  chawed  old  "  Yaller ''  up. 


67 

I'LL  BET  YER  A  DOLLAR." 


'IS  strange  how  betting  is  "  coming  in  style," — 

All  bet,  both  the  great  and  the  small, — 
And  precious  few  people  we  meet  now-a-days 

Who  do  no  betting  at  all. 
' '  I'll  bet  you  a  dollar  "  's  the  favorite  sum  now, 

So  I'll  "fall  in"  and  "follow  in  line," 
And  bet  with  the  rest  as  my  pen  scribbles  off 

This  simple  and  rough  little  rhyme. 

If  you  meet  a  man  who  is  ' '  seedy  ''  and  poor, 

And  not  got  a  cent  to  his  name  ; 
If  you  reach  out  your  hand  and  help  him  along, 

Once  more  independence  to  gain  ; 
When  he  gets  a  firm  stand  by  your  liberal  aid, 

And  is  well  up  Prosperity's  hill, 
He  may  vow  that  your  kindness  he'll  never  forget, 

But  "I'll  bet  yer  a  dollar  "  he  will. 

A  young  gentleman  escorts  a  young  lady  home 

From  a  party  or  ball  as  may  be, 
And  stops  at  the  gate  for  a  moment  or  so, 

And  longs  for  a  kiss, — do  you  see? 
If  he  snatch  one  the  lady  may  hurry  away 

With  the  look  of  a  much  injured  saint, 
And  vow  "she's  insulted  !  "  and  "  terribly  vexed  !  " 

But  "I'll  bet  yer  a  dollar"  she  ain't. 

An  old  bachelor  sits  in  his  dingy  old  room, 
With  a  scowl  on  his  crabbed  old  face  ; 

With  no  children  to  prattle  around  his  hearth-stone, 
And  no  kind  wife  his  table  to  grace  ; 


68 

He  may  sneer  at  young  couples,  and  call  them  "poor  fools/ 
Laugh  to  scorn  each  proud,  happy  young  "  dad"  ; 

He  may  swear  he  is  pleased  with  his  bachelor  state, 
But  "  I'll  bet  yer  a  dollar"  he's  sad. 

But  I'll  close  now  my  silly  and  strange  little  verse, 

And  afflict  the  kind  reader  no  more  ; 
If  indeed  anybody  has  patience  enough 

To  con  these  rude  sentences  o'er  ; 
Don't  find  fault,  I  pray,  nor  ask  ' '  where's  the  sense 

Of  this  rambling  poem  (?)  or  rant"; 
Don't  insist  that  the  meaning  to  you  I  make  plain, — 

For  "  I  bet  yer  a  dollar  "  I  can't. 


DEACON  GRAY. 


LD  Deacon  Gray  was  as  mean  a  man 

As  I've  seen  for  many  a  day  ; 
He'd  steal  and  lie  for  the  sake  of  a  dime, 

And  rob  all  who  came  in  his  way  ; 
He'd  steal  the  cents  from  a  dead  man's  eyes, 

Yet  loud  would  he  cant  and  pray  ; 
"So  much  ahead,"  he'd  say  to  himself 

As  he  hoarded  the  pennies  away. 

Yet  Deacon  Gray  was  a  "pious"  man, — 

He  was  member  of  church  and  choir  ; 
Though  he  starved  his  children  and  wife — and  "  beat " 

His  poor  laborers  out  their  hire  ; 
He  stole  a  cow  from  his  neighbor's  herd — 

Stole  wood  from  his  neighbor's  pile  ; 
"  So  much  ahead,"  said  Deacon  Gray, 

"I'll  be  rich  in  a  little  while  !  " 


69 


Well,  Deacon  Gray  he  died  one  day, — 

Like  the  rest  of  poor  human  race, 
And  his  soul  went  out  of  its  case  of  clay, 

And  soared  to  unknown  space  ; 
The  Devil  met  him  with  leer  and  grin, — 

For  the  Devil's  heart  was  gay  ; 
"  I'm  a  soul  ahead  !     Come  on  !  ha  !  ha 

Said  the  Devil  to  Deacon  Gray. 


"BIG  INJUN." 

E  came  and  sat  by  our  camp  fire 

With  a  savage's  proud  disdain. 
He  was  gaudy  with  paint  and  feathers, — 

"  Big  Eagle  "  was  his  name  ; 
I  asked  him  to  tell  of  his  exploits, — 

Of  deeds  that  gained  him  his  fame, 
And  he  folded  his  blanket  about  him, 

And  began  in  the  following  strain  : 

"Me  Uncle  Sam's  good  Injun  ; 

Me  big  chief  of  Cheyenne  ; 
Me  steal — me  cuss — drink  firewater, 

All  same  like  pale  face  men  ; 
Me  got  me  squaws  heap  plenty ; 

Pappooses  me  got  nine  ; 
Heap  much  good  grub  and  blankets ; 

Have  heap  much  bully  good  time  ; 
Nine  moons  me  go  on  war-path, — 

Kill  much — steal  ponies  heap  ; 
By  by  Injun  tired  out  righting, — 

Uncle  Sam  send  coffee — bread — meat ; 
Then  Injun  go  back  to  wigwam — 


Much  cold — ground  all  over  snow  ; 
When  summer  come,  then  me  fight  more  ; 

Then  me  go  Washington* — maybe  so. 
Uncle  Sam  forget  'bout  Injun, — 

No  send  'nough  coffee — bread — meat ; 
Then  Injun  him  kill  all  soldiers, — 

Burn  ranch — scalp — steal — much  heap 
Now  all  time  me  good  Injun  ; 

Big  Eagle  great  chief — no  lie  ; 
Me  got  good  grub  and  blankets — 

Uncle  Sam — bully  boy — glass  eye." 
****** 

O  ravers  o'er  pitiful  stories 

Of  the  "poor  persecuted  red  men," 
If  you  want  to  be  cured  of  your  folly, 

Come  and  gaze  on  the  noble  (?)  Cheyenne. 


A  WOMAN'S  EXPLANATION. 


W 


ELL,  yes,  I  did  go  walking 

On  yesterday  with  Jim, 
But,  Jack,  you  know  he's  but  a  friend, 

You  needn't  care  for  him. 
We  walked  down  in  the  woodland, 

The  birds'  sweet  songs  to  hear  ; 
He  squeezed  my  hand — but — but — I  fancied 

He  was  you,  my  dear. 

Last  week  we  went  out  sailing, 
A  few  miles  down  the  bay  ; 
'  I  went  to  help  pass  time,  dear  Jack, 
While  you  were  far  away. 

*  It  is  the  ardent  wish  of  most  of  the  chiefs  of  the  different  reservations  to  be  se 
to  Washington. 


His  arm  got  round  my  waist, 

But  how,  I  never  can  make  clear  ; 

He — kissed  me  once — but — but — I  fancied 
He  was  you,  my  dear. 

There  now  !  he's  gone  !  and  angry  too  ! 

What  have  I  said  that's  wrong  ? 
He  thinks  when  he's  away  I  should 

Sit  grieving  all  day  long  ! 
" I  flirt  !  "   "I  false ? "     Well,  I  declare  ! 

I'll  spoil  his  little  plan  ! 
/'//  never  speak  to  him  again  ! 

The  wretched,  jealous  man  ! 


THE  OLD  MAID. 

THERE'S  many  old  maids  in  this  world  of  ours, 
r      Old  maids  short,  and  old  maids  tall, 
Old  maids  lean  and  old  maids  stout, 
Old  maids,  too  many  to  name  or  call, 
But  I'll  tell  of  an  old  maid,  well  known  to  me, 
A  staid  old  maiden  of  forty-three. 

She  pities  poor  wives  with  minds  bowed  down 
With  their  weight  of  household  and  family  care, 
With  their  cranky  husbands  to  fret  and  fume, 
To  spit  on  the  carpet,  and  drink  and  swear. 
"  I'd  like  to  see  a  man  '  boss '  over  me  !  " 
Said  the  wrathy  old  maiden  of  forty-three. 

For  lovers  she  feels  supremest  scorn, 

If  she  catches  them  courting  she  gets  quite  wild, 

She  lectures  the  poor  girl,  and  says  "  I  ne'er 


72 

Heard  tell  of  such  actions  when  I  was  a  child. 
No  beast  of  a  man  ever  dared  to  hug  me  ! " 
Said  this  prudish  old  maiden  of  forty-three. 

"Now  there's  Mrs.  J.,  with  her  pair  of  twins, 

The  racket  they  keep  up  is  fit  to  kill  ; 

And  she,  poor  thing,  tries  night  and  day 

With  soothing  syrup  to  keep  'em  still, 

No  colicky  young  ones  are  squalling  round  me  !" 

Says  this  crabbed  old  maiden  of  forty-three. 

"  Men,  horrid  wretches — deceitful  herd  ! 

They're  a  stumbling-block  for  poor  womankind, 

If  one  should  ask  me  to  marry  him, 

I  tell  you  I'd  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind. 

There's  women  fools  plenty  now-a-days  without  me," 

Said  this  stately  old  maiden  of  forty-three. 
******* 

Perhaps  she  means  every  word  that  she  says, 

But  when  I  saw  her  on  yesterday, 

I  noticed  she'd  dressed  herself  quite  "  to  death," 

And  was  trying  her  best  to  seem  young  and  gay. 

The  "talk"  is,  she's  trying  to  catch  Deacon  Lee — 

(Of  course,  that's  nothing  to  you  or  me) 

So  "go  it  "  old  maiden  of  forty-three. 


A  WARNING  TO  POETS. 


^NE  summer's  day  as  I  was  idly  musing, 

And  time  most  heavy  on  my  hands  did  hang, 
As  listlessly  I  watched  the  street's  crowd  passing 
And  heard  their  different  common  phrases,  slang, 
It  grieved  me  sore,  I  sighed  "  Alas  !  "  to  listen 


73 

To  those  slang  words  they  spoke  so  light  and  gay, 
And  soon,  impatient  closed  my  window  shutter, 
And  started  out  to  walk  the  time  away. 

As  on  I  trod  in  restless,  careless  humor, 

I  to  a  grand  old  wood  my  steps  did  wind, 

In  hopes  some  great  poetical  effusion 

Would  come  to  me  to  better  all  mankind, 

I  sat  me  down  beside  a  murmuring  brooklet, 

Whose  waters  danced  along  the  golden  sand, 

' '  To  thee  I'll  sing  !     O  gleaming  mass  of  brightness  !  " 

I  cried,  and  took  my  poet's  pen  in  hand. 

I  started  thus  :  "O  water  pure  and  sparkling, 

That  rushes  on  unto  the  moaning  sea, 

A  charm  lies  in  your  crystal  gleaming  bosom  ; 

A  charm  !  a  hallowed  charm  for  such  as  me, 

Your  limpid  waters  bright !    O  how  they  gush — " 

I  paused — an  Echo  seemed  to  say 

"O  let  'er  gush  !  " 

Such  base  remark  drove  all  grand  thoughts  away, 

And  more  I  grieved  about  our  English  slang, 

But  soon  a  lovely  lily  caught  my  eye, 

That  o'er  the  glistening  water-edge  did  hang. 

"  O  lily  fair  !  "  I  cried,  "  so  tall  and  stately, 

As  pure  and  lovely  as  a  virgin's  brow ! 

Thy  spotless  leaves,  alas,  ah  must  they  crumble  ?  " 

I  paused  for  thought,  and  Echo  laughing  said 

"O  take  a  tumble." 

With  angry  heart  I  hastened  from  the  spot, 
Into  another  glade  most  dear  to  me, 
And  here,  my  Muse  inspired  then  my  pen, 
By  sight  of  a  grand,  stately,  old  oak  tree, 
"  Old  hoary  king  of  forest,  strong  and  noble, 


74 

That  proudly  stands  through  all  the  winter  hard." 
I  paused,  and  heard  the  sneering  Echo  whisper 
Through  all  the  hills  around, 

"O  cheese  it,  pard  !  " 

I  wildly  strove  to  drive  the  slangy  phrases — 
So  common  to  this  age — out  of  my  head, 
And  to  a  valley  deep,  where  violets  blossomed, 
I  next  did  turn  my  poem-seeking  tread. 
"  O  modest  little  flowers  ! "  I  cried  exultant ; 
"  Ye  that  I  culled,  a  merry,  careless  child  !  " 
I  paused,  and  heard  the  distant  Echo  whisper, 
And  murmur  softly  round 

"  O  draw  it  mild  ! " 

" O  Echo ! "  then  I  cried;  "like  all  the  nation 

You're  using  slang,  I  plainly  now  can  see ; 

I'll  hie  me  to  my  calm  and  quiet  study, 

Where  silence  reigns,  where  naught  can  trouble  me." 

Indignant  then  I  turned  my  footsteps  homeward, 

While  Echo  answered  back 

"O  tra  lale!" 
*  ***** 

O  poets  young,  O  poets  old  and  hoary, 
O  poets  who  the  woodland's  praises  sang, 
No  use  to  hie  you  there  to  coax  the  Muses, 
For  Echo  you  will  find  is  using  slang. 


THE  OMEN. 

'WO  lovers  sat  watching  one  bright  summer  night, 

Hand  in  hand,  cheek  to  cheek,  the  moon's  beams, 
Enjoying  the  present,  the  future  unheeding, 
Their  hearts  all  aglow  with  their  own  happy  dreams. 


75 

The  beautiful  sky,  by  no  cloudlet  bedimmed, 

Strewn  thickly  with  stars,  was  as  blue 
As  the  eye  of  the  maiden,  who  dreamily  pondered, 

And  listened  to  promises  seemingly  true. 

As  they  looked,  two  large  stars  in  the  heavens  above 
Fixed  their  gaze  ;   "That  is  mine,"  said  the  youth, 

"  As  that  star  is  my  love  ever  constant  and  bright, 
As  that  star  everlasting  my  truth  ;" 

"The  other  is  mine.     Brilliant  omen  of  fate  1" 

As  she  spoke  blushes  dyed  her  fair  cheek, 
The  innocent  thoughts  to  her  lips  found  their  way 

And  she  spoke  as  love  only  can  speak. 

Long  sat  they  thus  gazing,  all  trouble  forgetting — 

Not  noting  a  cloud  from  afar, 
Which  drifting  quite  slowly  but  steadily  gaining, 

Soon  covered  his  clear,  shining  star. 

That  instant  her  star  like  a  meteor  flashed, 

It  sparkled  and  fell  to  the  ground, 
Where  it  died — leaving  vacant  the  place  it  had  brightened, 

So  now  neither  star  could  be  found. 

As  trembling  they  saw  the  fair  tokens  departing, 

Grief  arose  in  each  heart,  and  with  fears 
Crowding  backward  the  love  with  gloomy  forebodings, 

They  parted  in  sorrow  and  tears. 

They  met  soon  again  but  with  faces  averted, 

The  love  in  his  heart  had  grown  cold ; 
His  vows  were  untrue  and  soon  lightly  were  broken, 

As  the  cloud  o'er  his  star  had  foretold. 

She  mingled  in  revelry,  listened  to  praises, 

Her  thoughts  all  the  while  away  far. 
With  scorn  on  her  lip  and  all  murmurs  disdaining 

She  died — like  her  beautiful  star. 


76 

PERHAPS. 

"  Since  if  you  stood  at  my  side  to-day 

Only  our  hands  would  meet, 
What  matter  if  half  the  weary  world 

Lies  out  between  our  feet." — PHCEBE  GARY. 


'HE  flower  a  hand  has  rudely  pressed 

Will  slowly  droop  and  die, 
A  fallen  star  will  ne'er  more  beam 

Within  yon  brilliant  sky. 
The  tree  that  stood  before  the  gale 

With  proudly  towering  head, 
At  length  the  long  continued  storm 

Uproots  from  Earth's  damp  bed. 

E'en  so  the  love  that  firmly  clung, 

With  fervent  faith  and  trust, 
Unto  the  one  whose  cold  neglect 

Slow  crushed  it  to  the  dust. 
Like  as  the  tree,  the  sore  tried  heart 

At  last  will  surely  break, 
And  late  repentance  and  kind  words 

Dead  love  can  never  wake. 

Perhaps  the  dog  whose  angry  tooth 

Was  buried  in  my  hand, 
I'll  beckon  with  a  gentle  tone 

Again  by  me  to  stand. 
Perhaps  a  little  singing  bird 

Who  hears  a  serpent  hiss, 
At  once  does  fly  into  his  coils 

With  joy  and  trustfulness. 

E'en  so,  perhaps,  in  time  my  heart 

Will  learn  to  love  again, 
And  trust  once  more  the  treach'rous  soul 

That  bowed  it  low  with  pain. 


77 

Perhaps  thy  falseness  I'll  forget 
As  years  shall  slow  elapse. 

I  do  not  say  thee,  yea,  or  nay, 
I  only  say — Perhaps. 


w 


PARTED, 

HEN  the  twilight's  dusky  mantle 

Turns  to  black  the  forest's  green, 
When  the  world  is  calmly  sleeping 

'Neath  the  bright  moon's  silvery  beam, 
When  the  night-winds  soft  are  wafting 

Flowers'  pure  incense  to  above, 
All  my  soul  is  yearning  toward  thee, 

And  I  think  of  thee,  my  love. 

As  I  wander  o'er  Life's  pathway 

And  my  heart  grows  faint  and  lone, 
And  I  weary  turn  from  pleasure, 

Longing  for  thy  voice  and  home, 
Gentle  Peace  folds  o'er  my  spirit 

Her  soft  pinions  like  a  dove, 
And  my  road  seems  far  less  lonely 

When  I  think  of  thee,  my  love. 

Low  thy  graceful  head  is  lying, 

O'er  thy  breast  the  daisies  blow, 
And  the  anguish  of  my  bosom 

Only  God  and  thou  can  know; 
Though  my  bruised  rebellious  spirit 

Dares  to  question  Him  above, 
Still  I  strive  to  hush  my  murmurs 

When  I  think  of  thee,  my  love. 


78 

Do  not  enter  at  the  portal ; 

Tarry  yet  awhile  for  me, 
I  am  hastening  up  the  pathway, 

Soon  I'll  stand  again  by  thee. 
Leave  me  not,  beloved  spirit, 

Wait  beside  the  gate  above — 
Hand  in  hand  once  more  together 

Let  us  enter  in,  my  love. 


TRIALS. 

ANY  the  trials  I  meet  in  life 

As  I  hurry  the  journey  along, 
Many  the  trials,  many  the  cares — 

And  many  a  bitter  wrong. 

Many  companions  I  dearly  loved 

The  Master  has  called  away. 
I  know  they  watch  and  wait  for  me 

In  the  happy  Far-away. 

Often  my  fondly  cherished  hopes 

Are  rudely  dashed  to  earth, 
And  often  friends  I  love  the  best 

I  find  are  of  little  worth. 

I  wept  o'er  the  loss  of  those  I  loved, 
I  wept  o'er  my  hopes'  rude  fall, 

But  the  tears  I  shed  when  I  found  thee  false 
Were  the  bitterest  tears  of  all. 

Many  the  trials  I  meet  in  life — 
They  are  waiting  for  great  and  small  ; 

But  to  find  my  trust  in  thee  betrayed 
Is  the  heaviest  trial  of  all. 


79 


LINES. 


AM  sad  and  weary,  darling, 

Lonely  and  sick  at  heart, 
For  I  long  for  your  dear  presence 

Though  we  are  so  far  apart. 
O,  to  clasp  your  hand,  my  dear  one, 

O,  your  kindly  voice  to  hear  ! 
Wheresoe'er  your  feet  may  wander, 

May  God  protect  you,  dear. 

I  shall  watch  for  your  returning, 

I  can  never  love  thee  less, 
May  His  watchful  care  be  with  you 

And  your  life  forever  bless. 
Though  long  miles  now  stretch  between  us, 

Yet  in  thought  I'm  ever  near, 
And  my  heartfelt  prayer  is  ever 

That  God  will  bless  you,  dear. 

Ah  !  be  sure  I'm  thinking  of  you 

Though  your  name  I  never  speak, 
And  my  heart  is  yearning  toward  you 

With  love  thoughts  true  and  deep  ; 
Heaven  guard  my  distant  darling, 

Be  the  skies  above  thee  clear 
From  a  single  shade  of  clouding, 

And  may  God  protect  you,  dear. 


So 


REMEMBER  ME. 


W 


HEN  I  am  far  away,  dear  one, 

Yes,  miles  and  miles  from  you,  my  friend, 
May  blessings  hover  o'er  thy  path, 

And  Fortune  e'er  thy  steps  attend. 
My  changeful  life  will  often  be 

As  turbid  as  a  troubled  sea, 
Yet,  O  what  joy  'twill  be  to  know 

That  sometimes  you  will  think  of  me. 

Your  honest  love  I  do  not  doubt, 

I  clasp  your  warm  and  friendly  hand, 
I  know  no  other  truer  friend 

I'll  ever  find  in  any  land, 
God's  blessings  on  your  faithful  heart. 

Go  where  you  will — where'er  you  be, 
Let  not  Time  weaken  Friendship's  ties, 

But,  dearest  one,  remember  me. 

I  know  a  future  day  will  come, 

A  day  when  we  shall  meet  again, 
The  joy  of  meeting  will  outweigh 

By  far  the  bitter  parting  pain. 
Farewell  !  your  mem'ry,  dear,  will  dwell 

Within  my  heart  on  land  or  sea. 
And  may  I  never  live  to  see 

The  day  you  have  forgotten  me. 


Si 


WATCHING. 

A  SEA  STORY. 

2HE  stood  alone  on  the  wild  sea  shore, 
•f     Her  lover  was  far  away, 
Yet  she  watched  and  waited  for  his  return 

Patiently  day  by  day. 
' '  'Tis  many  a  day,"  I  heard  her  say, 

"  Since  he  sailed  o'er  the  dark  blue  main, 
But  I'll  murmur  not,  he  has  not  forgot, 
I  know  he  will  come  again  !  " 

O'er  her  brow  so  fair 

Her  soft  dark  hair 
Was  tossed  by  the  wind  so  wild, 

Yet  her  eyes  so  true 
Scanned  the  Ocean's  blue 

With  the  faith  of  a  little  child. 
But  no  welcome  mast 

Her  vision  passed 
Though  she  watched  with  anxious  pain, 

And  whispered  low  : 
' '  He  will  come,  I  know, 

Yes,  he  surely  will  come  again  !  " 

The  year  passed  by,  her  soft  dark  eye 

Grew  dim  with  watching  long, 
Yet  her  heart's  pure  will  was  constant  still, 

And  her  maiden  love  as  strong  ; 
Yet  she  faded  fast,  and  she  died  at  last, 

Her  watching  all  in  vain. 
From  the  distant  strand  of  a  foreign  land 

Her  lover  ne'er  came  again. 


82 


O'er  her  brow  so  calm 

The  summer  long 
The  roses  bloom  so  pale, 

And  the  Robin's  trill 
And  the  Whip-poor-will 

Her  early  death  bewail. 
Yet  I  often  dream,  in  the  Twilight's  gleam, 

I  can  hear  her  whisper  low  : 
"  I  will  murmur  not,  he  has  not  forgot, 

He  will  come  again,  I  know  !  '' 


DISCONTENT. 

'HEY  come  to  greet  me  with  their  outstretched  hands 

And  bid  me  "  welcome  "  in  a  hearty  tone, 
Yet  in  their  midst  my  heart  is  discontent, 

And  'mong  them  all  I  feel  but  more  alone. 
Their  voices  cannot  win  my  restless  soul, 

Nor  drive  away  the  shades  of  lonely  care, 
I  turn  away  from  them  unsatisfied, 
Because  you  are  not  there. 

What  care  I  if  they  love  the  songs  I  sing  ? 

What  matter  if  they  praise  the  words  I  rhyme — 
What  matter  if  they  crown  me  Pleasure's  queen, 

If  my  heart  is  so  lonely  all  the  time  ? 
The  crowd  of  smiling  faces  are  to  me 

As  naught — although  they  beam  so  genial,  fair — 
I  cannot  meet  and  give  them  smile  for  smile, 
Because  you  are  not  there. 

I'd  rather  see  one  honest  face  I  love, 
And  feel  the  touch  of  one  beloved  hand, 

Whose  clasp  has  power  to  thrill  my  icy  heart 
Unmoved  by  merry  strains  from  Flattery's  band, 


So,  though  they  welcome  me — a  happy  throng- 

And  jest  with  hearts  so  free  from  any  care, 
Among  them  all  I  feel  but  more  alone, 
Because  you  are  not  there. 


A  HEART  SONG. 

'IS  true  that  we  are  severed  far, 

We  ne'er  may  meet  again,  dear, 
For  I  am  here  and  you  are  there, 

And  have  been  many  a  sad  year ; 
My  heart  yearns  ever  to  your  own 

As  flowers  seek  earliest  morn's  dew, 
Yet  still  I  never  do  repent 

That  I  have  met  and  loved  you. 

My  path  in  life  comes  never  near 

The  way  you  tread  alone,  dear, 
You  miss  my  presence  by  your  side, 

And  I,  too,  grieve  you're  not  near, 
Yet  mem'ry  sweet  remains  us  both 

Of  joys  so  pure  we  once  knew. 
My  heart  is  better — tenderer, 

Since  I  have  met  and  loved  you ; 

Mine  was  a  useless,  dreary  life, 

Without  an  end  or  aim,  dear, 
Wrapped  up  in  self  I  drew  to  me 

But  scorn  or  pity — doubt — fear. 
Since  far  from  you,  I  seek  about 

To  find  what  good  I  may  do, 
And  live  for  others,  not  myself, 

Since  I  have  met  and  loved  you. 


84 


So,  though  we  journey  far  apart 

And  ne'er  shall  meet  again,  dear, 
I'll  pray  for  you  and  you  for  me 

With  conscience  from  a  blot  clear, 
And  as  I  journey  on  and  find 

'Mong  many  hearts,  so  few  true, 
My  faith  in  human  kind  dies  not 

Since  I  have  met  and  loved  you. 

God  knoweth  best — so  donjt  complain, 

But  bow  unto  His  will,  dear, 
If  meant  that  we  should  meet  again 

He'll  show  the  way  to  us  clear. 
But  come  what  may,  the  world  to  me 

Is  brighter,  better,  more  true, 
Than  when  I  empty-hearted  roamed 

Before  I  met  and  loved  you. 


DRIFTING  APART. 


DRIFTING  apart !     Drifting  apart  ! 

^     Our  barks  now  float  on  Life's  turbid  tide. 
But  no  longer  gliding  side  by  side, 
And  I  miss  thy  voice  of  kindly  cheer, 
As  I  watch  o'er  the  waste  of  waters  drear, 
The  masts  of  thy  speeding  bark. 

Drifting  apart  !     Afar  to  roam, 
And  every  rise  of  the  billows'  swell 
Divides  us  further.     Ah  !  is  it  well  ? 
My  soul  says  nay — but  so  let  it  be — 
I  wave  farewell,  farewell,  to  thee  ! 

And  journey  on  alone. 


85 

Drifting  apart !     Perhaps  ere  long 
When  my  bark  is  lost  fore'er  from  view, 
When  the  storm-clouds  shroud  the  sky  now  blue, 
When  the  tempest  fills  thy  heart  with  fear, 
You  will  long,  too  late,  my  voice  to  hear, 

And  see  thy  course  is  wrong. 


"THY  WILL  BE  DONE. 


'HY  will  be  done."     O  simple  little  words, 

And  yet  so  hard  for  us  to  truly  say  ; 
To  bow  unquestioning  before  Thy  will, 

And  meekly  bear  the  burdens  of  to-day. 
Pity  our  weakness,  O  most  holy  Son  ! 
And  teach  our  murmuring  lips  to  say 
"Thy  will  be  done." 

"Thy  will  be  done."     See  where  the  widow  mourns, 
As  o'er  her  dead  companion  sad  tears  fall, 

Alone  she  stands — her  heart's  dear  comrade  gone, 
Nor  answers  to  her  wild,  despairing  call  ; 

O  dry  your  eyes,  poor  mourner,  think  for  him 
Has  risen  up  Eternity's  glad  sun, 

O  may  He  help  thy  stricken  soul  to  say 
"Thy  will  be  done." 

"Thy  will  be  done."     The  mother  weeping  stands 
Beside  the  coffin  of  her  cherished  one  ; 

The  baby,  snatched  from  off  her  loving  breast 
Before  its  little  life  had  scarce  begun  ; 

Beside  her,  Lord,  in  pitying  kindness  stand, 
And  hold  her  hand,  most  gracious  Holy  one  ; 

Thou  know'st  how  hard  for  her  poor  lips  to  say 
"Thy  will  be  done." 


86 


"  Thy  will  be  done.''     O  how  we  need  Thy  help 
To  say  those  words  with  humble,  trustful  heart, 

To  bow  before  Thy  will  in  everything, 
As  in  this  dreary  world  we  take  our  part. 

Thou  knowest  our  weakness,  and  how  prone  to  stray, 
Rebellious,  leaving  all  Thy  work  undone  ; 

But  Lord,  forgive,  and  help  us  all  to  say 
"Thy  will  be  done.'' 


HAVE  TRUST  IN  GOD. 


UAVE  trust  in  God, 

When  o'er  thy  pathway  heavy  shadows  lie, 
When  no  kind  friend  nor  earthly  help  is  nigh 
To  cheer  thy  soul ;  when  thy  frail  bark  is  driven 
By  darkest  storms  of  life,  look  unto  Heaven 
And  trust  in  God. 

Have  trust  in  God  ; 

He  knows  the  lonesome  way  is  dark  and  drear, 
He  knows  thy  heart  is  often  filled  with  fear ; 
But  his  strong  hand  is  at  the  vessel's  helm 
And  though  storms  rave,  they  ne'er  shall  overwhelm, 
So  trust  in  God. 

Have  trust  in  God  ; 

He  bendeth  low  to  hear  thy  faintest  call, 
He  knoweth  every  trial — burden — all — 
So  when  thy  cares  seem  heaviest  to  bear, 
Press  on  thy  way  with  softly  whispered  prayer, 
And  trust  in  God. 


Have  trust  in  God  ; 

And  when  thy  bark  shall  breast  the  tide  no'more, 
When  life's  long  journey  shall  at  last  be  o'er, 
Then  will  thy  soul,  from  its  dark  bondage  free, 
Soar  to  the  heavenly  shore  and  ever  be 
Safe  with  its  God. 


RESIGNATION. 

OW  doth  our  minds  e'er  strive  to  see 

Into  the  dark  futurity  ! 
To  pierce  the  gloom  before  our  eyes, 
The  cloud  that  o'er  the  future  lies, 
And  see  our  whole  lives  clear  and  plain, 
How  much  of  joy — how  much  of  pain  ; 
And  often  do  we  pass  away 
In  longings  vain,  the  present  day, 
While  fancy  paints  a  scene  more  fair, 
With  flowers  rich  and  scented  air, 
Which,  by  the  contrast,  dims  the  light 
Of  blessings  that  are  now  so  bright. 

Ah,  foolish  ones  !  to  pass  in  scorn 

The  treasures  of  life's- early  morn, 

To  slight  the  jewels  at  our  feet, 

And  grasp  for  those  beyond  our  reach, 

And  for  "  What  is  to  come  "  still  sigh, 

Until  to-day  has  glided  by  ! 

O  let  us  meet  the  coming  years, 

With  all  their  pleasures,  cares  and  fears, 

Just  as  God's  providence  has  planned, 

And  humbly  take  from  His  kind  hand 

The  good,  the  ill,  the  toil,  the  rest, 

E'er  feeling  that  He  knoweth  best. 


SUBMISSION. 


Y  heart  doth  not  yet  understand 

The  workings  of  Thy  wondrous  hand, 
Nor  know  Thy  righteous  way ; 
But  what  is  now  as  blackest  night, 
Thy  mighty  love  will  some  time  light, 
Make  plain  some  future  day. 

'Tis  true  the  way  seems  lone  and  dark, 
And  often  my  faint,  saddened  heart 

Is  filled  with  grief  and  pain  ; 
But  when  Thy  gracious  words  I  hear, 
"  Dear  child,  thy  Lord  is  ever  near," 

The  path  seems  bright  again. 

Then  let  me  trust  Thee  more  and  more, 
And  when  my  weary  days  are  o'er, 

And  my  bewildered  sight 
Shall  look  back  over  life  again, 
With  all  its  mysteries  made  plain, 

/ '//  see  that  Thou  wast  right. 


MY  PRAYER. 

OLD  Thou  my  hand, 

As  o'er  life's  changing,  stormy  sea  I  float, 
And  storm-gusts  fierce  threat  oft  to  wreck  my  boat  ; 
Oh  !  when  the  billows  roar  and  swell  most  high, 
When  naught  I  see  but  dark  and  frowning  sky, 
Lord,  near  me  stand. 

Lord,  call  to  me 

Whene'er  with  fancied  strength  I  strive  to  guide. 
Without  Thy  help,  my  bark  across  the  tide  ; 
Oh,  let  not  then  Thy  anger  on  me  fall, 
But  deign  the  foolish  wanderer  to  recall, 


T> 1.     .          ...    Tl 


Hold  Thou  my  hand, 
And  give  me  strength  to  battle  boldly  on, 
Ne'er  shrinking,  though  the  tide  be  swift  and  strong, 
And  when  by  yon  bright  shore  my  anchor's  cast, 
O,  then  with  thankful  soul  may  1  at  last 

Before  Thee  stand. 


BE  THOU  MY  GUIDE. 


TREAD  along  life's  changeful,  rugged  pathway, 
And  gather  often  briers — sometimes  flowers  ; 

Still,  looking  forth  with  hope  in  the  to-morrow, 
1  pass  away  Time's  swiftly  flying  hours. 

But  naught  of  evil  will  my  years  betide, 

If  Thou,  O  Lord,  wilt  be  my  shield  and  guide  ; 

Oft  doth  my  heart,  with  sad  and  weary  pining, 

Long  for  the  coming  of  a  brighter  day, 
And  often  to  my  thankless  eyes  discerning, 

Is  naught  but  dreary  darkness  all  the  way. 
And  oft  my  lips  with  murmurings  loud  complain, 
Because  the  blessings  sent  are  mixed  with  pain. 

Teach  me,  O  Lord,  with  humble  mind  to  praise  Thee, 
Alike  'mid  pleasure  and  in  trouble  sore  ; 

O,  may  I  e'er,  amidst  life's  stormiest  billows, 
But  cling  unto  and  trust  Thee  more  and  more, 

And  lift  my  eyes  in  earnest  faith  above, 

Relying  on  Thy  strong,  undying  love. 

Watch  Thou  o'er  me  through  all  the  busy  future, 
Within  my  soul  in  gracious  kindness  dwell, 

And  may  I  e'er  amidst  life's  strangest  changes, 
Still  feel  within  myself,  Thou  doest  all  well ; 

For  naught  but  good  can  all  my  days  betide, 

If  Thou,  O  Lord,  wilt  be  my  shield  and  guide. 


90 

SELF-RELIANCE.* 

NO  one  ever  amounted  to  anything  in  any  position  in  life  who  was  not  self- 
reliant.  If  you  intend  to  depend  upon  the  advice  and  aid  of  your  friends 
all  your  life,  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  die  early,  before  your  friends  become  too 
sick  and  tired  of  you  to  even  attend  your  funeral.  Self-reliance,  hand  in  hand 
with  integrity  and  industry,  is  bound  to  win  in  the  end.  I  despise  a  man  who  is 
always  deliberating — not  whether  he  is  right  or  wrong,  but  what  Mr.  So-and-So  will 
say  of  his  actions.  Lay  out  your  road  carefully,  conscientiously  (being  careful 
always  not  to  trespass  on  your  neighbor's  ground),  and  then  plod  along.  Let  those 
who  walk  in  different  roads  jeer  if  they  will.  The  man  who  laughs  at  one  who  start: 
on  a  road  of  his  own  making,  wastes  just  so  much  valuable  time,  and  by  holding  youi 
peace  and  steadily  moving  on,  you  will  distance  him  just  so  far,  while  he  is  wasting 
his  time  criticising  your  movements.  Remember  the  winning  horse  is  seldom  the 
one  that  starts  best.  Don't  be  afraid  to  originate.  An  ape  can  copy,  but  it  takes 
intellect  and  study  to  originate  ;  and  if  we  all  keep  going  on  in  the  same  old  ruts,  we 
will  be  little  better  than  puppets  that  are  worked  by  the  master-mind  of  some  of  oui 
ancestors,  who  originated  what  was  suited  to  their  time  and  age,  but  which  may  be 
totally  unfit  to  suit  our  demands  or  conditions.  It  is  best  not  to  waste  time  listening 
to  "  advisers."  Advice  is  cheap,  but  the  man  who  is  most  ready  to  give  you  advice 
is  seldom  successful  or  prosperous  in  his  own  undertakings.  Yet  it  is  always  wise 
to  hearken  to  the  experiences  of  others  who  have  traveled  over  the  country  in 
which  you  lay  your  road.  They  can  warn  you  of  many  a  pitfall  and  slough,  and 
it  is  a  fool  who  does  not  respect  the  experiences  of  age,  or  stubbornly  shuts  his  ears 
when  a  friend  cries  "  Danger  ahead."  Follow  no  man's  advice  unless  it  agrees 
with  your  own  good  sense  and  judgment.  Think  for  yourself — that  is  why  the 
great  Ruler  created  every  being  with  brains  of  his  own.  If  you  do  the  best  you 
can,  but  find  after  faithful  labor,  that,  with  all  your  care  and  planning,  you  are 
on  the  wrong  track,  don't  be  too  proud  to  go  back. 

Never  seek  for  happiness  in  throngs  and  dissipation.  Happiness  shuns 
crowds.  There  is  more  true  pleasure  in  a  ten-minute  chat  with  some  con 
genial  friend  than  in  ten  hours'  carousal  in  a  throng  of  "pleasure  seekers." 
Keep  your  eyes  about  you,  and  when  you  see  some  poor  fellow  struggling  to  carry 
a  load  beyond  his  strength,  give  him  a  lift  if  you  can  ;  but  watch  that  you  your 
self  do  not  try  to  carry  mor-e  than  you  are  able,  else  some  one  may  need  to  come 
to  your  aid,  and  although  it  is  a  pleasure  to  give  aid,  it  is  often  humiliating  to  be 
obliged  to  receive  it.  Be  respectful  to  those  you  have  dealings  with,  but  do  not 
cringe  to  any  one,  for  the  mask  of  hypocrisy  falls  off  at  last  and  the  true  face  is 
discovered.  Avoid  double  dealing.  Be  yourself  at  all  times.  If  you  are  honest 
in  all  things,  you  will  never  fear  to  look  your  fellow-man  in  the  face,  and  if 
you  watch  the  experiences  of  those  about  you,  you  can  easily  discover  that  deceit 
brings  swift  and  sure  punishment. 

*  Written  for  the  Xmas  number  New  York  Mirror,  of  1887. 


THE  ACTOR  *    > 

\V/HO  promenades  upon  the  "Square" 

With  cane,  silk  hat  and  lordly  air 
And  tells  about  the  "offers  grand  " 
He  has  from  best  ' '  stars  "  in  the  land  ? 
The  Actor. 

Who  often  goes  out  with  a  ' '  snap  " 
To  towns  you  can't  find  on  the  map 
The  Public's  (?)  mirth  one  night  supplies 
Then  has  to  come  back  "  counting  ties  "  ? 
The  Actor. 

Who  tells  about  the  "hits  "  he's  made 
With  solemn  look  and  accents  grave, 
And  says  that,  in  the  public  mind, 
He  left  the  "star"  far,  far  behind? 
The  Actor. 

Who  often  says  behind  your  back 
That  he  "can  teach  you  how  to  act," 
And  yet,  if  you  should  need  a  friend 
His  last  dime-piece  to  you  will  lend  ? 
The  Actor. 

Who  often  fails  in  the  "  legit  " 
Yet  in  "  black-face  "  can  make  a  "hit  " 
Then  vows  "  the  public  taste  is  low, 
And  wants  a  vulgar,  trashy  show  "  ? 
The  Actor. 


*  Written  for  New  York  Clipper,  December  29,  1886. 


Who,  when  misfortune's  cry  is  heard 
Is  first  with  aid  and  kindly  word 
And  freely  gives  his  store  of  pelf 
And  very  often  robs  himself? 

The  Actor. 

Who  when  Death's  touch  his  life  doth  end 
Is  seldom  left  without  a  friend 
Who,  grateful  for  some  kindness  past 
Cares  for  and  loves  him  to  the  last  ? 
The  Actor. 

And  when  his  voice  no  more  beguiles, 
May  Peter  "  pass"  him  in  with  smiles, 
And  he  go  in  to  final  rest 
And  take  a  "  front  seat"  with  the  best — 
The  Actor. 


DON'T  MISS  YOUR  "CUE." 


KNOW  some  folks  who  idly  stand  and  moan 

That  "Good  Luck  never  yet  has  come  their  way'* ; 
While  if  they'd  ope  their  eyes  and  look  about 
They'd  see  him  at  their  side  'most  every  day. 
These  people  stand  like  sticks  along  life's  path 
With  scowling  brows  (the  sight  gives  one  the  blues), 
While  for  "  ill-luck  "  they  can  but  thank  themselves — 

They've  missed  their  "  cues.' 

This  world  was  made  for  busy  hands  and  brains  ; 
The  worthy  one  who  toils  is  he  who  wins. 
How  can  one  hope  to  win  the  race  of  life 
Who  slowly  walks,  and  running  ne'er  begins  ? 


93 

Prepare  yourself  to-day  for  better  work, 
For  greater  tasks  that  you  may  have  to  do  ; 
Then,  when  your  chances  come,  be  quick  to  act — 

Don't  miss  your  "cue." 

I  scorn  the  man  who  has  not  "nerve  "  to  stand 
And  face  his  future  with  a  hopeful  eye,  ' 
Who  drifts  along  life's  tide  without  an  aim, 
And  only  lives  to  eat,  to  drink,  and  die. 
The  world  is  full  of  "chances  "  by  the  score 
For  higher  aims,  more  noble  work  and  true  ; 
So  ' '  learn  your  part "  and  be  assured  ere  long 

You'll  hear  your  "  cue." 

Then  let  us  strive  by  honest,  faithful  toil 

To  be  as  great  and  noble  as  we  can  ; 

It  is  a  duty  that  we  owe  ourselves, 

To  those  we  love  and  to  our  fellow-man. 

Perform  your  part  to-day  with  patient  care, 

Perchance  'twill  prove  a  stepping-stone  for  you  ; 

Then  when  your  chances  come  for  better  work 

Don't  miss  your  "  cue." 


94 


SUNSHINE. 


A  CHEERFUL,  contented  man  or  woman  does  more  good  in  the  world  th; 
ten  doctors.     What  brightens  one  up  more  or  makes  one  feel  more  satisfii 
with  life  than  the  cheery  greeting  and  the  hearty  hand-clasp,  of  the  cheerful  mar 

To  go  about  with  a  dull,  dissatisfied  expression  on  one's  face  is  tl 
worst  kind  of  selfishness.  Your  dark,  frowning  face  casts  a  shadow  f 
the  time  over  the  life  of  every  susceptible  being  you  are  brought  in  conta 
with,  and  if  the -world  has  used  you  ill  you  have  no  right  to  make  yoi 
friends  suffer.  One-half  the  troubles  of  this  life  are  of  our  own  makin; 
We  want  things  all  our  own  way,  and  when  we  don't  get  it,  like  a  spoiled  chiL 
we  raise  a  yell  that  annoys  everyone  within  hearing.  The  trouble  with  most 
us  is  we  waste  our  time  either  grieving  over  what  we  have  lost  in  the  past  or  wh< 
we  fancy  we  see  beyond  our  reach  in  the  future — neglecting  all  the  glorious  gif 
of  the  present.  It  is  folly  for  one  to  say  "  I  can't  help  my  feelings."  Of  coun 
you  can't  if,  instead  of  crushing  them,  you  secretly  nourish  and  feed  your  ev 
thoughts  and  fancies.  If  we  will  only  judge  ourselves  as  we  judge  others,  an 
scorn  ourselves  as  we  scorn  others  who  are  guilty  of  the  same  ill  doing,  we  wi 
in  time,  by  holding  a  tight  rein  on  the  selfish  part  of  our  nature,  grow  with  01 
years  nearer  and  nearer  the  ideal  man  or  woman.  No  one  has  a  fault  withoi 
knowing  it,  and  the  worst  of  all  our  faults  is  self-love.  We  do  love  ou 
selves,  and  until  we  can  sink  that  selfishness  and  love  others  at  least  as  we 
a?  ourselves,  we  can  never  be  either  noble  or  great  in  the  true  sense  of  tl 
word.  A  cheerful  man  is  generally  both  generous  and  just,  and  a  smile  on  tl 
lips  is  usually  a  reflection  of  sunshine  in  the  heart.  "  Where  is  all  this  '  sunshine 
to  come  from?"  my  bilious,  grumbling  friend  inquires.  Go  out  and  search  f( 
it.  Get  out  from  the  thick  shade  of  your  own  moping  fancies.  Step  out  and  gii 
the  sun  a  chance.  It  can  never  reach  its  rays  into  your  dark  little  corner.  Ste 
out,  look  about  you  ;  see  how  many  struggling  fellow-men  and  women  there  are  i 
the  world  to  aid.  That  will  be  "  sunshine  "  for  you.  Aid  them,  if  not  by  mone] 
by  kind  words,  an  encouraging  smile,  an  approving  "well  done,"  and,  best  < 
all,  by  your  example. 

There  are  men  and  women  in  this  world  whose  daily  life  is  a  prayer.  I  don 
mean  they  parade  their  religion,  but  their  daily  life  shows  an  honest  purpose  I 
do  as  they  would  be  done  by,  and  to  love  their  neighbor  as  themselves.  Sue 
people  do  more  good  than  twenty  sermons.  Don't  be  afraid  to  praise  peopli 
The  idea  that  praising  spoils  is  absurd.  By  praise  I  don't  mean  flattery,  bt 
when  one  really  does  well  don't  be  afraid  to  tell  him  so.  It  encourages  him  I 


95 

greater  efforts,  and  in  the  heart  of  every  human  being,  I  think,  is  planted  a  desire 
for  commendation.  There's  plenty  of  sunshine  in  the  world  ;  plenty  of  things 
worth  living  for,  if  we'll  only  look  about  and  find  them.  There  are  many  more 
good  people  in  the  world  than  bad,  many  honest  hearts  that  will  eagerly  meet  us 
more  than  halfway  if  we'll  only  hold  out  our  hand  in  a  friendly  spirit.  So  let 
us  open  the  shutters  and  let  God's  sunshine  into  our  homes  and  open  our  hearts 
and  let  the  sunshine  of  fellowship  and  love  for  our  kind  into  our  lives.  Let  us 
try  to  live  less  for  ourselves  and  more  for  others,  and,  I  think,  we  will  find  it  is  a 
good  thing  to  be  alive  after  all. 


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